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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26966653">The Circles: Book 5: Through the Valley of Death</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngmarAndElfhild/pseuds/AngmarAndElfhild'>AngmarAndElfhild</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngmarAndElfhild/pseuds/Elfhild'>Elfhild (AngmarAndElfhild)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Circles of Power [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works &amp; Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Middle Earth Setting, Deviates From Canon, Drama, F/M, Fantasy, Ghosts, Heroine's Journey, Major Original Character(s), Multi, Not a Love Story, Original Character-centric, Other, POV Multiple, POV Original Character, Sauron Wins, Sexual Content, Slavery, Spooky, Supernatural Elements, Torture, Travelogue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:21:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>102,997</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26966653</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngmarAndElfhild/pseuds/AngmarAndElfhild, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngmarAndElfhild/pseuds/Elfhild</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Sauron is the victor, Rohan is attacked and many civilians are taken as slaves. After a futile escape attempt, twin sisters Elfhild and Elffled are recaptured by Haradric slave traders and once again find themselves forced to resume their journey to the Dark Land of Mordor. Once they pass over the Anduin, all hope of escape is lost, and each mile that passes brings them ever closer to the culmination of their fears. Home is behind them; slavery lies ahead. Torn between loyalties and tormented by grief and guilt, the twin sisters struggle to accept the fate which seems to await them at the journey's end.</p><p>Before the twins and their captors ever reach Mordor, however, they must pass through the ethereal mists of the Morgul Vale, a place so terrifying that even the minds of brave men succumb to madness. In this realm of mists and shadows, nothing is as it seems, and the boundaries between reality and illusion are blurred to obscurity. What strange sights and experiences await them in the treacherous Morgul Pass?</p><p>Chapter 33 - Esarhaddon uHuzziya, a man who does not believe in magic, ghosts, or the supernatural, has a chance encounter with one of the Morgul Vale's more peculiar residents.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Circles of Power [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/32053</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Workings of Fate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>In Memory of Angmar, Beloved Friend and Fellow Writer.</em>
  </strong>
  <em></em><br/>
<strong>1942-2020</strong><br/>
<strong>
    <em>Angmar may have passed beyond the Circles of the World, but his memory lives on through his writing.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>
  <em>The eaves of the Druadan Forest, Anórien, June 21, 3019 Third Age</em>
</p><p>"Noble shakh, I swear to you that Farmak and I came upon Sharapul's camp last night on the high crest of that ridge over yonder!" Zaanûrz the uruk waved his hand towards the line of rugged, forested hills before them. "The old bugger said that he and his party would remain in this area for at least the next day or two. Sharapul, who has a knack for this sort of thing, is confident that the slaves have not yet made their way back to Rohan."</p><p>Zaanûrz' eyes shifted nervously between Shakh Esarhaddon uHuzziya's boot and the far western horizon. He knew that his master was displeased with him and his partner, Farmak, for they had failed miserably in their mission to track down the three young escaped slave boys. Zaanûrz was always apprehensive when in the presence of men of great power. Of course, he had no liking for them, but what were he and his kind to do? Men were their superiors in the army, and their orders had to be obeyed implicitly. Ever since the Great Eye had put so much control into the hands of His civilian puppets, life for the poor uruk had grown even worse. Now the imperious bastard Huzziya, one of the many agents for the Great Lord, stared down upon him from the height of his great horse as though Zaanûrz were a blue fly on the arse of a dead hound. Rage boiled within him but he suppressed his wrath. "The day will come," he licked his lips in anticipation as he relished the thought, "when the orcs will rise up and kill them all!"</p><p>"Well, it appears that they are nowhere about, does it?" Captain Ubri, leader of Esarhaddon's bodyguards, scornfully drawled out in Black Speech. The uruk noted that while the Haradian mispronounced every other word, the man was still extremely proud of his supposed command of the language.</p><p>"Vain fool," raged Zaanûrz within himself. "The dog of a Southerner slaughters the Master's speech yet again!"</p><p>The slaver and his party - his three bodyguards, Ubri, Ganbar and Inbir; his servant boy Ásal; and two half-breed orcs in his employ - had recently been joined by Zaanûrz and Farmak. These two had advised the slavers that they had met three other uruks who had information about the escaped slaves. Since that time, the slavers had been guided by Zaanûrz and Farmak until the master slaver, Esarhaddon uHuzziya, had finally lost patience with them and demanded to know where the two were leading them.</p><p>"Nay, Captain Ubri, though they have not made contact with us yet, I am confident that as soon as they are aware of our presence, they will seek us out," Zaanûrz answered with the usual resentful respect, keeping his eyes trained to the ground. "If you would not think me impertinent for advising it, I might suggest that instead of standing here, that we continue our progress towards the ridges."</p><p>Though Esarhaddon gave a nod to Ubri, affirming that he had accepted the uruk's advice, he seemed in no rush to leave. He and his men continued to scan the drab, leafless gray crest of the small ridge that ran in a north-south direction. Pawing and snorting, their spirited mounts were far more impatient to be away than were their riders. The horses tossed their heads, causing their bits to jingle and the colorful tassels on the reins to bob up and down. The two other uruks in the slaver's escort had taken the opportunity of the halt to rest, and, stoically viewing the vista before them, they leaned nonchalantly upon their spears.</p><p>"Listen! What was that?" Zaanûrz jerked his head suddenly to the left and listened. Immediately alert, the ears of the other uruks pricked up at some sound which the men could not detect.</p><p>"I hear nothing," Ubri answered skeptically.</p><p>"Wait!" Ganbar sat up straighter in the saddle and cupped his hand over his ear. "I heard something, though the sound was faint. It seems to be the cry of a hurt animal, perhaps a hart."</p><p>"That was no animal!" Zaanûrz cried out. "It was the scream of a human, and by its high pitch, I would daresay it was a female!"</p><p>"Wait, there it is again!" Farmak turned to look at the other orc.</p><p>"The escaped slaves!" Ubri exclaimed, leaning forward in the saddle as he tried to catch the sound.</p><p>Esarhaddon stroked his dark beard thoughtfully. "I heard nothing, but I will take your word for it, Zaanûrz and Farmuk. Among other qualities, your kind has a reputation for keenness of hearing. You and Farmak lead the way. My men and I will follow."</p><p>"Aye, Master, we live to serve," Zaanûrz replied, eager for some excitement after enduring the tedious presence of these arrogant sand lizards.</p><p>Led by the two uruks, the small cavalcade was soon trotting over the little-used rough track. Perhaps at one time, the trees and underbrush had been cleared away from the sides of the road, but now the forest pressed in upon them. The riders drew easier breaths when the roadway opened up before them, but their relief was short-lived. After they had rounded a bend, they found that the branches of the trees had grown together, forming a canopy of barren boughs over the path.</p><p>The three bodyguards, all men of the vast, barren sand wastes of the South, felt closed in and uncomfortable at the nearness of the forest. While his three underlings constantly cast nervous glances at the heavy growth above and to the sides, Esarhaddon rode as cocksure and confident as though he were entering a grove of date palms at his villa. Although he was often derogatory in his remarks about the uruks, he had grown to trust their keen senses, which were far superior to those of men. If these brutes sensed no danger, that was enough for him.</p><p>"The way will grow better soon," Zaanûrz called back to them, and sure enough, they were soon past the intruding vegetation. "Unless my ears have failed me, I would judge that the sound I heard came from only a short distance ahead." He glanced over his shoulder as he increased his pace to a lope. The men touched the sides of their horses with their spurs, and soon they were cantering down the trail.</p><p>Rounding another bend in the path, Esarhaddon's mount suddenly veered and pranced sideways. Nostrils flaring wide and pink, her eyes rolling back in her head, Ka'adara balked, refusing to go forward until Esarhaddon prodded her in the sides with his spurs. The other horses were affected in a similar manner, snorting and shying, their ears flicking back and forth as the riders attempted to settle the skittish steeds. Ásal, who usually had little trouble with the string of pack horses, had difficulty with one of the beasts, which stood trembling, refusing to budge. Finally the men coaxed, persuaded, or forced their horses to behave, and at last all of the animals were under the control of bit and spur.</p><p>"What has gotten into them?" Inbir grumbled as he guided his recalcitrant mare back onto the trail from a grove of spindly pines into which she had fled.</p><p>"They smell blood in the air," Farmak muttered dourly. "The scent of it is thick here. There has been mischief up ahead!"</p><p>"Ah, but Farmak, what else does my servant perceive? Do those remarkable nostrils of yours detect aught but the stench of blood? Is there evidence of the living among these odors?" Looking over the head of his horse and down the trail, Esarhaddon rubbed the mare's shoulder where the skin prickled in nervousness, twitching as though an insect had alighted upon it.</p><p>"Master," Farmak shook his head, "here, where we are, the scent of uruk rises strong from the ground. From the nature of it, I would be willing to wager that Sharapul and his boy have been this way not too long ago." The uruk lifted his head, his nostrils quivering as he winded the air.</p><p>"What else can you tell me?"</p><p>"From the wind coming from farther down the trail, I catch the scent of men and horses and some beast." Farmak tested the air again. "His scent is much like that of a wolf, a dog - I would suspect. These odors upon the breath of the wind are mixed, some scents pungent, others more diffused. I would suggest we journey on down the trail. I would warn you, though - keep alert, and a sharp eye out. Where there is the aroma of blood and death, we can expect danger."</p><p>Murmuring amongst themselves, the men pressed their knees to the sides of their horses, urging their steeds forward. Riding with the reins in their left hands, the men kept their sword arms free for quick work. Ahead the woods opened out into a small clearing, and once again the horses grew skittish as they sensed danger.</p><p>"There!" Ubri cried, standing up in his stirrups and pointing to a slumped figure leaning against the side of a tree. Nearby lay the bodies of a brown gelding and a huge mastiff. "You, Zaanûrz, determine if this man is still alive. You other three - fan out into the woods and search for any enemies who might be hiding."</p><p>A brief examination of Tarlanc's corpse brought the uruk running back. "He's dead, Captain! His throat has been slit from ear to ear!"</p><p>Captain Ubri shook his head. "What an unfortunate wretch to meet his fate in this woeful, deserted place! May his soul find peace among whatever gods that he worshiped! ...But wait!" Ubri suddenly exclaimed, looking intently towards the body. "I know that man! I met him once! 'Tis old Tarlanc, the miller from the village! Where he is, the slave maids must be close by!" He shook his fist. "If this is the bloody butchery of Sharapul, I swear when we catch up with him and his companions, I will slice off their pricks and ballocks, stuff them down their throats, and mount their heads upon poles! Then all who go by may take heed! Quickly, men! We must search for the slave girls! They are in grave danger! We will return later to bury the dead!"</p><p>Galloping their horses down the trail, the four Southrons came to the stream. By the water's edge, they saw the form of a blonde girl lying upon the sandy beach. "There is someone down there on the shingle at the bottom of the far bank!" Ganbar shouted excitedly.</p><p>"Men, ride forward and see if it is one of the escaped slaves!" Esarhaddon commanded as he urged his mare down the bank. He turned his head as the other uruks returned. "You lads stay up here and keep out of sight. We do not want to scare the flighty maiden."</p><p>Riding their horses down the slope, the men crossed the shallow stream and then dismounted. Ásal stayed behind, his hands full with the pack horses. Inbir was the first to reach the sobbing girl. "Little houri?" he asked as he placed a hand upon her shoulder. When she fearfully looked up at him, he smiled, immediately recognizing her as one of the missing slave girls.</p><p>"She gave us quite a chase." Ganbar grinned in admiration as he peered down at her.</p><p>"But every race must have its end," Ubri laughed unpleasantly, "and she has come to the end of the course." Striding over to her, he motioned for Inbir to move aside. "You are too gentle with her, Inbir. That confuses slaves and gives them ideas. Let me handle this," he told him in Haradric, and then turned to the girl. "Where is your sister? Have Sharapul and Âmbalfîm carried her off?" he demanded as he reached down and clamped his hand on her shoulder.</p><p>"They have her," Elffled sobbed, shrinking away from his touch. Of all the slavers, she thought Ubri to be the worst. "I -- I do not know where they took her. Âmbalfîm told me to run, and I did."</p><p>"Âmbalfîm told you to run!" Ubri scoffed. "What nonsense! Why would he try to help you?"</p><p>"Âmbalfîm is not like the other orcs," Elffled sniffled, staring at the ground.</p><p>"Ubri, are we here to learn what the damned uruk told her?" Ganbar snorted, impatient with Ubri's irrelevant questioning. "What difference does it make anyhow?" He looked down at Elffled. "Slave girl, where are the uruks now?"</p><p>"I do not know! I do not know!" she cried out. "They are back that way, I think!" Tearfully, she raised a trembling hand and motioned towards the west.</p><p>"Surely you know more than that!" Ubri's patience had run thin, and he shook her with such force that her head rocked back and forth.</p><p>"No! No!" she wailed, terrified at the way he was shaking her. "Mercy, please! Mercy!"</p><p>"Ubri, that is not necessary, is it?" Ganbar touched his hand to the other man's arm. "The girl will be too frightened to tell us anything of use."</p><p>"I suppose you are right," Ubri grudgingly admitted. "The girl is a half-wit. Whatever sense she had has been driven out of her by those accursed orcs!" He threw her back on the ground, where she lay in a crumpled heap, softly weeping.</p><p>"We are wasting time here," Inbir spoke up. His pride stung at Ubri's rebuke, he had watched the scene in silence. "The uruks have her scent, and they can backtrack her far better than we can."</p><p>"He is right, Ubri," Ganbar interjected. "The uruks can find them." As he looked down at the weeping girl, he felt pity for her. "Poor little wretch," he thought. "Ubri has scared her half out of her wits! He always was too heavy-handed with slaves."</p><p>"We cannot get much more out of this idiot girl," Ubri growled. "Shakh Esarhaddon," he looked to the slaver, "do you want us to tie this little runner to a tree so that she will not get any ideas about escaping?"</p><p>"Too much risk leaving her here alone," Esarhaddon replied, looking around at the carnage at the top of the bank. "They have already murdered a harmless old man, and only a stroke of good luck can keep them from killing the other girl. No," he shook his head, "they might circle around and kill this one." He absently stroked his mare's neck as he looked towards the west. "If fate is still with us, the other maiden yet lives. Ubri and Ganbar, we must ride with all haste as though a djinn were breathing fire upon our heels!"</p><p>"But, shakh, do you not wish me to go with you?" Inbir asked, trying hard not to show his disappointment.</p><p>"Inbir, do not look so upset." The slaver's dark brown eyes were amused. "The task I have set for you is also a worthy one. You will stay and tend to the girl. When she is able, you will put her upon your horse and join us." He glanced down at the young eunuch, who had finally managed to calm the pack horses. "Ásal, you will only be in the way if you follow. Stay here with Inbir and help him. Tûrum, Shatog, Farmak and Zaanûrz, you will go with us." He paused and scanned the faces of his men. "Now let us find the bastards who have stolen my slaves!"</p><p>The uruks, eager to draw blood - even though it was of their own kind - cheered their master and raised their swords and spears into the air. Ubri and Ganbar were silent, but the steely look in their eyes and the grim set to their jaws showed their determination. Then they were away in a cloud of dust in search for the stolen girl.</p><p>***</p><p>Voices. Elffled heard voices coming from far away, distant murmurings which filtered down through the thick haze clouding her senses. There were men speaking in a strange tongue; horses nickered and moved about somewhere up above. Then the men were gone, searching for Elfhild. A bitter sob forcefully expelled itself from her throat. That horrible uruk had probably carried her sister off to some dark place in the forest, and no one would never see her again. Elffled sobbed louder. There was no use in even getting up. All was lost.</p><p>She sensed a light stirring of air, and then she felt a hand gently brush against her cheek. Her eyelashes fluttering open, she looked up into the almost black eyes of a handsome, tawny faced young Southron. At least the one who had shaken her until her teeth rattled had departed with the others. The youngest bodyguard and the servant boy remained, though, probably to guard her and prevent her from escaping.</p><p>What she had both hoped for and feared had come to pass; she had been recaptured! She remembered the feel of the iron as it was locked about her neck, the clanking of the chains as she was hooked to her place in the coffle line. What was the point in fighting slavery? But still, she knew the fear of all women who found themselves at the mercy of their enemies. She cringed away, whimpering in fear, but a strong hand held her shoulder down.</p><p>"Do not be afraid, little houri; no one will hurt you. Here, drink some wine, the sweet wine that will soothe your soul and warm your body," a kind, deeply masculine voice coaxed her. He lifted the wineskin up to her lips. "Drink, sweet houri," he murmured as he stroked her hair.</p><p>Elffled regarded him warily for a moment before drinking. The wine stung her parched, aching throat, but she was so thirsty... Reaching a hand up, she tilted the wineskin higher to allow more of the sweet, tart liquid to run out of the mouth of the skin.</p><p>"I am Inbir, third in rank of Shakh Esarhaddon's bodyguards. Perhaps you would like some food," he murmured softly, smiling at her.</p><p>"N-no, t-thank you, sir," she stammered. "I fear my appetite has completely fled from me." That was certainly an understatement; the contents of her stomach lay strewn upon the ground.</p><p>"I pray that I was not the cause of the disappearance of your appetite. Here, have another sip of wine." His piercing black eyes bored into her, making her feel uncomfortable and embarrassed. Blushing, she averted her gaze and took another sip. Wiping off her mouth with the side of her hand, she shook her head and pushed the flask away.</p><p>"No, sir. The cause of my affliction was the sight of such suffering and death. I have never seen a dead person before." Suddenly, her lips quivered, and she burst out into tears. "Oh, they killed Tarlanc and the animals, and then captured my sister and me! We were both so frightened! Then the two brutes started quarreling, and I managed to escape. I came back to this dreadful place to fetch a weapon, for I wanted to rescue my sister, but there was so much blood... and the flies... and the smell..."</p><p>A lump welled up in Elffled's throat and her words trailed off into incoherent moans. She felt her hand being lifted up, the brushing of a light kiss over her palm, the tickling of a mustache on her skin. Startled, she looked up into the Southron’s dark eyes, and saw that they held only kindness and sympathy.</p><p>"What is your name, gentle and most lovely of spring lilies?" Still clasping her hand, he turned it over and placed his palm atop hers.</p><p>She looked at him fearfully, remembering all of the leering faces and groping hands, all the foul kisses which had been forced upon her lips. Her stomach knotted as she remembered the shame of Sharapul and Âmbalfîm's vile explorations. She could still feel their meaty paws as they roughly probed her tender flesh. Into her mind flashed the image of the obscenely grinning Sergeant Daungha, the crude boor who had forced her to submit to his rapacious, demanding kisses. How she loathed him! And then there were the men at the blacksmith's shop in Minas Tirith who passed her around, each one roughly kissing and fondling her. Would this man be any different?</p><p>"Elffled, sir," she answered unwillingly, resenting the unwanted attention of the Southron.</p><p>"Elf-fled." Inbir rolled the name around in his mouth, stumbling over the syllables, which sounded harsh to his ears. "Is there a meaning to such a name?" He raised his eyebrows quizzically.</p><p>"Elf-beauty, sir," she mumbled and looked away, blushing. She knew that the innocent name that her parents had given her would no doubt delight this overly convivial Southron.</p><p>"Appropriate." His luminous eyes caressed her face, and, sighing, he touched her cheek gently with the back of his hand. His eyes never left hers as his hand lingered on her cheek for a few seconds before bringing his fingers to his lips. His expressive eyes glowed with an emotion that she could not read, but which made her feel strange. Discomfited, she looked away as he kissed his fingers and then pressed his hand over his heart. "No maiden of the elves could be more lovely." His voice was hoarse as he rose to his knees and then stood up. His face flushing beneath his tawny skin, he cleared his throat before speaking. "If you feel able now, we must be away, for my lord Esarhaddon has gone to seek your sister and has ordered me to bring you to him. Have no fear; you are safe with Ásal and me." With a slight jerk of his head, he indicated the grinning boy who stood nearby.</p><p>Elffled's mournful expression brightened considerably at the assurance that attempts were being made to return Elfhild. "Oh, I pray that the lord is able to rescue her. These orcs are mad!" The slaver and his men would surely be far kinder to them than the cruel uruks. Whatever punishments they might devise would be more merciful than anything those monsters would invent, or at least she hoped so. Poor Elfhild, though -- Elffled knew that her sister would be enraged at becoming a prisoner once again just as soon as she was rescued.</p><p>"Little houri, if fate wills it, your sister will be safe. There is naught we can do that will either help or hinder the workings of destiny." Inbir reached down and offered his hand, which she took shyly. As he pulled her to her feet, their eyes met again, and she felt her heart skip a beat. He led her to his horse, squeezing her hand in his firm grip. Untying his horse, he took up the reins and mounted his steed. "You will ride behind me. Here, I will assist you," he told her as he slid his foot out of the stirrup. Looking up at him warily, she put her foot in the stirrup and hesitantly took his hand as he reached down for her. Swinging her up behind him, he looked back over his shoulder, his eyes glowing as brightly as the stars in the night sky. "Wrap your arms around my waist, little houri, and hold me tightly. I am going to take you flying!"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Perilous Beauty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>Her eyes tightly closed, Elfhild prepared for the worst, trembling as the great uruk loomed over her. Leering, his fangs bared, Sharapul lowered himself down on her, one knee resting on either side of her hips. She recoiled in panic as his massive tool twitched against her. The brute's heavily sweating body exuded a putrid stench; his breath reeked of rotting meat as it struck her face in hot, fetid gasps. The foul odor was overpowering, and Elfhild felt the bile rise in her throat. </p><p>"Don't move, witch!" The uruk leaned forward, and Elfhild felt the cold press of steel against her right eyelid. "This is the flat side of the blade, not the sharp." He made a low, chortling rumble. "...But if you open your eyes quickly, who knows what might happen?"</p><p>Elfhild forced herself to lie as quietly as she could, trying to control the panic that threatened to overpower her. When she felt the blade lifted from her eyelid, she did not allow herself to give into a feeling of relief. The uruk was motionless for some moments, and Elfhild was sure that he was playing with her, baiting her and wanting her to wonder where he would put the blade next. Though she thought she was prepared, she could not help the slight grimace when she felt the cold steel on her left eyelid.</p><p>"You moved a little there, didn't you, pretty? Be careful next time. Don't want you taking any chances." His voice was harsh and rasping, punctuated occasionally with an evil chuckle. "Have you ever seen some poor bastard whose eyelids had been removed? Not a pretty sight as you might guess; their eyeballs seem to pop out of their skulls like boiled eggs," he laughed. "Do not be afraid yet, though. It will be a while before we come to that. There is more, so much more that you will feel before I slice your bewitching lids from your face!"</p><p>Elfhild felt a wave of dizziness flood over her. She tried to think of happier days, her home, her family, friends, and neighbors. Across the broad, rolling plains of Rohan, the herds of horses once grazed upon the grass which grew tall and rich. In places, wildflowers grew in the open areas, and she and Elffled liked to walk amongst them. Plucking the blossoms, they would weave them into chains and garlands with which they adorned themselves. Much to the amusement of their father and disapproval of their brother, they would even place chains of flowers upon the necks of horses and cows. All were dead now, she thought, dead upon the plains of Rohan. And soon she would join them once again when the sighing wind touched the empty lands.</p><p>"Open your eyes!" She felt large taloned fingers shove against her eyelids and force them open. He jerked her head sideways, compelling her to look upon the ashen face of Âmbalfîm. "You and your lascivious sister killed him! If you had just left him alone... but, no! You couldn't do that! You put thoughts into his head which were more than his lusty body could bear! He imagined - har, har, har, if you can believe it - that he had suddenly taken a fancy for females!" Howling with insane laughter, he slapped his thigh, and then turned deadly serious. "However, you have gained nothing, slut! If his dead eyes could see, he would enjoy witnessing our vengeance upon you. Right before you die, I will cut off both your ears, your nose, your eyelids, and your lips! After I have finished with you, your beauty will never tempt another again! First, though, there are other things we must do before we come to that."</p><p>Gripping the neck of her tunic, Sharapul pulled her with him as he rose to his feet. With her hands tied behind her back, she was helpless to fight against him as he dragged her to a nearby tree. Snarling, the uruk slammed her against the trunk, striking her head so hard against the wood that she saw bright lights sparkling before her eyes. Elfhild's head lolled forward, and she passed in and out of darkness, a blessed realm far from the terror of her reality. Holding the limp girl against the tree, the uruk sliced open her tunic from neck to hem. </p><p>"We can't have this," Sharapul growled when he saw the bindings about her breasts. "Let's see what you have hidden under these rags!" His eyes glowed with an unholy fire as he slashed through the cloth and pulled it away to reveal her breasts. He licked his lips as he squeezed the nipples, but Elfhild was too dazed to feel any shame at the uruk's degradation of her body. Addled by the blow to her head, she was only dimly aware of what was happening around her. The uruk dug a thick coil of rope from his knapsack and lashed it around the tree until she was bound from her neck to her ankles, leaving only her breasts free of the ropes. "That'll hold you there while we have some fun," he chortled.</p><p>Taking another length of rope from his knapsack, he cinched the fiber tightly around the base of her left breast and then looped the cord over her neck, pulling it down to circle around her other breast. He took up the slack until each breast jutted out obscenely. Twisting her nipples, he laughed as the addled girl gasped out, the sharp pain bringing her back to her senses. "Can't have you falling asleep on me now," he snickered, slapping her cheek to shake her out of her daze. "I want you to feel every last bit of this!"</p><p>Sharapul drew a distance away from her and surveyed the effect. "Your teats are not so big as a she-orc's, but this'll make 'em look bigger. That's what you wanted, isn't it? To play the part of the whore for Âmbalfîm?" he taunted as he tugged the ropes around her bosom until they were digging into her skin. His hairy hands groped her breasts, his fingertips kneading the constrained flesh and causing a whimper of pain to escape from her lips. The torment was almost too much to bear as sheeting fires of agony coursed through her torso. She knew that here was no hope for her, and she only prayed that her torturer would soon grow tired of his cruel sport and put a swift end to her life.</p><p>The uruk bent his head, his thick, meaty lips engulfing her mouth as he sucked her lips inside the vile orifice. Elfhild felt the evidence of his huge arousal pushing against her mound of love, and she shuddered in revulsion as Sharapul began moving his hips, thrusting his tumescent bulge against her. She tried to turn her head to evade his hateful kisses, but when she moved, the rough rope pressed into her throat. Forced to endure this added humiliation, she prayed that she would strangle upon the binds. Sharapul mumbled coarse animal sounds to himself as he shot a stream of his loathsome spittle into her mouth. The girl gagged and choked, but he only laughed at her. Elfhild tried to console herself with thoughts of the world beyond, and her family who had gone on before her in death.</p><p>Arrogant and powerful in his great strength, the huge uruk knew that he was invincible. No one dared stand in his way! Torû had slunk off in the woods, probably to get drunk on draught, and poor Âmbalfîm was dead. In this vast expanse of forest which covered untold miles, he could sneak away and find a cave somewhere and torture this little whore for days. Revenge would be sweet... and agonizingly, excruciatingly long.</p><p>Sharapul pulled his mouth away from hers and gripped her golden braid at its base, sneering at her as she gasped for air against the rope which cut across her throat. His yellow eyes gleaming with dark passion, he slapped his meaty paw across her breasts. As she shrieked in pain, he growled and snarled like a hungry wolf feeding upon a freshly killed deer. Another sharp slap cut across her tormented flesh, the pain in her rigidly taut breasts raw and excruciating. The third fiendish blow took the pain-racked, exhausted girl to the point of swooning.</p><p>Sharapul continued to force his vile tongue in and out of her mouth. Mumbling and slobbering, he intensified his prong's attack on her mound. Releasing her breasts, he gripped her shoulders, his claws digging into her skin. His great, powerful hips repeatedly drove his ram against her, pummeling her furiously, a fierce, bestial rhythm of lust. Suddenly his body shuddered, and he threw back his head, howling and screaming like a demented beast. The staccato of frenzied passion continued a short while until at last the monster was still.</p><p>Groaning, Sharapul gave her breasts another harsh squeeze, and he slumped against her. "Don't you wish that we were both naked so I could swive you the proper way? If you'd seen my great virile root and known it inside you, you could never have gotten enough of me!" he mumbled in her ear as his lips clumsily kissed over the pink shell, his tongue twisting inside. "Don't think you'll have any rest, though, for I'm not weak like a man, too exhausted to do anything after I've spent my seed. Oh, no, my little Northern witch! I'll be back up for some more fun real soon! Maybe this time you'll get the honor of having my great prong driving inside you! You'll like that, oh, yes, indeed you will!"</p><p>Gasping for air, Elfhild clenched her teeth. Her skin crawled in revulsion beneath the bulk of this repulsive monster who had collapsed upon her like a sack of grain. Anger welled up inside her. She knew that death was inevitable and that resisting would only prolong her suffering, but still accepting her fate with naught but a whimper somehow seemed weak and cowardly. Her last moments upon Middle-earth would be spent in brutal anguish, but she resolved that even with her final shuddering breath she would curse her murderer. </p><p>"Go to Hel, you bastard!" she spat out vehemently. "May you suffer for all eternity! May serpents spew poison upon your anguished flesh! May your parched tongue loll out as you stumble through icy rivers of blood, your only relief a draught of goat piss!"</p><p>"Such foolish talk from such pretty lips!" Sharapul threw his head back and laughed as he gripped the peaks of her jutting, tortured breasts in his taloned fingers and yanked them viciously. Elfhild's screams rang through the forest. Then, still laughing uproariously, he squatted down in front of her and pulled the shoes and stockings from her feet. "Such dainty little feet," he murmured as picked one up by the sole and caressed the skin with his fingers, "but you won't need your toenails anymore... or your toes for that matter!" Laughing, he brought his blade up and inserted it in the tiny crevice where the toenail joined her little toe.</p><p>Bracing herself for the pain that would follow, Elfhild gritted her teeth. She knew that this monster would slide his dagger between each nail and toe, and one by one, rip her toenails from her body. Yet she would not beg for mercy, for she refused to degrade herself in front of this beast. She knew it would do no good anyway, for he would only mock her as he gained his pleasure by torturing her. She tried to keep her lips tightly compressed, waiting for the first agony to rage through her feet. She doubted that she was brave enough to remain silent through an ordeal like this, and prayed to Béma to give her strength.</p><p>But the horrible torment which she anticipated seemed inordinately slow in coming. That was probably part of the torture, though, the anticipation of that dread moment of pain and suffering. She did not want to give the fiend any more pleasure than he would derive naturally from her torment, but perhaps if she knew what was coming and could brace herself for the agony, it would not be as horrific as it would be if she were taken by surprise. She opened one eye a crack and peered out cautiously through her thick lashes. She saw that her tormentor was turned away from her, his body posed in a defensive stance, as though listening to some sound beyond her range of hearing.<br/>  <br/>From out of the woods burst forth three riders, obviously Southrons by their manner of dress. So distracted had he been by his cruel torment of his prisoner that Sharapul had not heard their approach until they were almost upon him. Sharapul quickly drew his sword and faced the intruders with dagger and blade. For a fleeting second, he considered fleeing, but rage boiled in his blood, and at that moment he blamed the Southrons for Âmbalfîm’s death just as much as he did the wretched girl tied to the tree. After all, if it had not been for the slave traders, he never would have had the misfortune to cross paths with the accursed Northern wench, and his beloved Âmbalfîm would still be alive. </p><p>Their scimitars drawn, the riders bore down upon the uruk. Esarhaddon's chestnut mare drove ahead of the others, her powerful muscles bunching and stretching as she raced over the ground. Dodging the slaver’s scimitar, Sharapul struck out at the horse with his sword, the tip of his blade slicing into her shoulder. The cut was not deep, but the attack against his horse drove Esarhaddon into a fury, for he greatly loved his beloved mare Ka'adara. Wheeling around, Esarhaddon charged forward with a cry of rage, his scimitar swinging like the wide sweep of the reaper’s scythe. Sharapul tried to evade the downward swing of the Southron’s scimitar, but this time he was too slow, and the uruk's head was hewn from his shoulders like the wheat in the harvest. Spewing blood from the severed neck, the uruk's head flew backwards as the body toppled forwards. Bouncing, the head rolled over the ground like a child's ball.</p><p>The Southerners galloped past the decapitated body and then reined their horses around. After trotting their horses back to the twitching carcass, the men looked down at the body, muttering among themselves. Esarhaddon studied the uruk’s corpse, dispassionately observing the way the spine had connected to the bloody base of the skull. Black blood oozed from the mangled, ruptured veins and arteries and crept over the ground. </p><p>"Those damned uruks can never be trusted!" Ubri spat to the side, his face dark with anger.</p><p>"It does not matter now," Esarhaddon remarked as he turned his gaze away from the uruk. "The bastard is dead." </p><p>Ubri dismounted from his horse and tossed the reins of the fretting mount to Ganbar. Picking up the decapitated head by its blood-soaked hair, Ubri held it up for the other two men's inspection. Glancing over to Esarhaddon, he asked, "Shakh, we will mount the head upon a pole and set it by the edge of the road, but what do you wish us to do with the body? Burn it?"</p><p>"No, throw the corpse against the base of the post and let it rot; the bastard was worthy of neither burial nor cremation." Dismissing the incident from his attention, Esarhaddon gazed across the clearing to the tree where Elfhild was bound. "See to it, men. There are far more pleasant matters that take my attention."</p><p>As the slaver rode away, Ubri and Ganbar exchanged amused glances with each other.</p><p>"How long do you wager before he has that slave girl in his bed?" Ganbar asked, a knowing smirk upon his face.</p><p>"Not so long as it will take to drag this damn thing to the road if you do not stop talking," Ubri grumbled as the two men picked up the dead uruk and carried it away. </p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Questions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild<br/><br/>Esarhaddon uHuzziya was in a much better mood than he had been the day before. Then he had been so discouraged by the failure of the search for the escaped slaves that he had been close to abandoning the hunt. Though it appeared now that the other slaves would never be retrieved, at least two of the most valuable had been found. "The rarity of blonde twins in the lands of the South and East should command a price high enough to offset the losses incurred by the escape of the others," Esarhaddon calculated, mentally tallying his costs compared to the going market rate for attractive virgins in the Nurnian slave market. He certainly hoped that the twins were still virgins. One could never be completely certain when it came to the chastity of these wanton Northern peasant girls.</p><p> Riding over to the tree where Elfhild was tied, the slaver's excitement at his triumph intensified. He threw his right leg over the pommel of his saddle and dropped to the ground. Tossing down the reins of the well-trained mare, he strode forward until he stood directly in front of the bound girl. At the sight of her, his breath caught in his throat, the sudden stirring in his loins verifying her desirability. Tied and helpless, so vulnerable in her bondage, she was even more alluring than an experienced courtesan. What could be more stimulating than possessing complete power over such a beautiful woman? No man could enjoy that pleasure more than he! <br/><br/>When Esarhaddon caught the flash of aquamarine eyes, he could not deny the effect she was having on his body. He breathed heavier as he beheld her flushed face, heaving chest, and the streaming golden hair which had escaped from her braid and trailed over one shoulder. How her naked breasts jutted delightfully from between the tight ropes wrapped about her chest! His piercing eyes shone with growing fire as they raked over the contours of her hips and long, shapely legs, plainly visible in the men's breeches which she wore. How this little barbarian from the North was arousing him! He envisioned how she would look in the throes of passion, moaning as she yielded herself completely to him. Aye, she was a tender flower who had been created for love!</p><p>He must not think that way! Profit was far more important than fleshly pleasures that lasted but a short while and then were over. Gold was all that endured! This one and her sister would be set aside to be sold as virgins. Perhaps if they proved worthy, he would keep them in his harem for a time to receive training and education. This would cause their value to increase even more. No matter how much it cost him in personal frustration and discomfort, he would sell both of these girls as virgins upon the auction block in Nurn. <br/><br/>If Elfhild had known the thoughts of the man who stood but a few feet away from her, she would been appalled. Fortunately for her, she was not yet aware of the surging desire which raged like wildfire in his heated loins. Still dazed by her close brush with death, she could only stare at the Southron as though she were in a trance. Gradually through the cloudy mists which filled her mind, the horrible reality of who he was flooded her addled senses - Esarhaddon uHuzziya - the cruel Southern slaver who claimed ownership of all of the captives!<br/><br/>Instinctively, she cringed against the tree, the rough bark digging into her back. She desperately wanted to cover her nakedness, but her arms were tied behind her back. She could feel the slaver's eyes boring into her bound breasts; did he guess the purpose of the cruel bonds, the obscene tortures which she had suffered? Would he feel pity and rescue her, or would he subject her to torments even worse than those of Sharapul? After all, she had dared to defy him by trying to escape, and no doubt he had been angered by her audacity. Perhaps he would punish her for her disobedience by slitting her throat and leaving her for the carrion birds!<br/><br/>The slaver halted a short distance from the girl, his eyes gleaming as he gazed at her exposed breasts. Bowing slightly from the waist, he touched his fingers first to his heart, then his lips, and finally to his forehead in a mocking parody of his people's custom of greeting. "After a long and arduous chase, at last we meet again, O most comely daughter of the North! Peace be unto you! May the worthy sire who sowed his seed in your mother's fruitful womb be eternally blessed, for your beauty surpasses the Moon in his fullness!"<br/><br/>His dark brown eyes smiled predatorily at her from beneath thick black brows which nearly met in the middle. Elfhild noticed that the slaver had a small mole under his right eye, which gave his face even more character. A high, proud nose curved like the hook of a hawk's beak was set over his full, sensuous lips. Well-groomed and oiled, a black mustache and beard tinged with only a hint of gray set off his handsome, arrogant face. A magnificent white turban was wrapped around his head, the uniqueness of the bizarre headdress only making him appear more foreign and exotic to Elfhild's eyes.</p><p>Blinking away her tears, she took in every detail of her captor, admiring his broad shoulders and muscular build. She sensed the power that lay within the man. How confident and proud he seemed! How strong he must be -- and, oh, how dangerous! If he had entered one of the strong man contests in one of the fairs in the Mark, he would surely put the strongest Rider to shame! She yearned to touch his muscular arm, to feel the bulging biceps, to squeeze them and feel them flex. Oh, what was she thinking? She felt a hot blush infuse her cheeks, but yet she could not look away from this brawny Southron who transfixed her with his eyes.<br/><br/>His long, flowing dark green burnoose was open, revealing a tan tunic and loose-fitting brown trousers. A red sash was wrapped about his middle, which was on the thick side, giving evidence that he was a connoisseur of rich viands and good living. She shuddered at the sight of the jewel-hilted scimitar at his waist and remembered its recent deadly work - deadly work, aye, but a blow from that blade had saved her life. A feeling of gratitude washed over her, and she felt the urge to thank him, to grovel at his feet in appreciation. The thought horrified her, for he was an enemy of her people, and his trade was one of the most despicable and shameful upon the face of Middle-earth!<br/><br/>"Flower of the Northern forests, how foolish you were to suppose that you could elude me for long!" he stated, his voice both admonishing and amused. His tone irritated her, for he sounded condescending, as though she were a silly child and he had caught her in some naughtiness. "Perhaps in your present state of distress you do not remember me, beauty, but I am your master, Esarhaddon uHuzziya! I have come to reclaim you and take you home!" he exclaimed with an elaborate rolling flourish of his hand.<br/><br/>"I remember you," Elfhild whispered. All too well, she thought. This very man was the one of the reasons why the women had made their desperate escape attempt! <br/><br/>Closing the short distance between them, the slaver stood in front of her, arms crossed over his chest. The bejeweled rings on his fingers sparkled as they caught the sunlight and reflected a myriad of flashing rainbow colors into Elfhild's eyes. A lowly peasant, she felt intimidated by the slaver's ostentatious display of wealth. The urge to lower her eyes before this rich lord came over her, but she did not want to cower before an enemy, even though she was half naked and bound to a tree. She blushed as she realized he was openly lusting for her, and the ruddy flush that had spread over her face and neck deepened when she realized that this sensual, worldly Southron was having a strong effect upon both her mind and body.<br/><br/>Methodically, the slaver's eyes ranged over the hills and valleys of her slender form, taking in every detail, comparing the virtues to the faults and calculating the total value. He could have been a mapmaker charting and graphing a contour map of her body. Seemingly satisfied, he smiled arrogantly and leaned forward, his face just inches from hers, his breath smelling pleasantly of mint. She started, her frightened eyes darting back and forth as his large, hairy hands pressed against the tree trunk on both sides of her head.<br/><br/>"Which one of the two sisters are you?"<br/><br/>Elfhild summoned up all of the courage she could muster. "Elfhild daughter of Eadbald of Grenefeld," she replied proudly.<br/><br/>"That name is displeasing to my ears, but no matter. I will change it when I find a more suitable one." He flashed her a stern look that told her that this was a man accustomed to commanding others, and that he would accept no argument. "Beauty, as you know, I just slew a uruk in my employ. I would like to know the reason why this worthless dog turned rogue and committed such acts of treachery." His voice was nonchalant, but the troubled expression in his eyes did not match the careless smile on his lips, and the right corner of his bottom lip began to twitch involuntarily. Elfhild suspected that he was far more bothered by the fight with Sharapul than he was revealing.<br/><br/>"That orc was a cruel and wicked monster." Elfhild shuddered with the memories of the abuse she had received at his hands, and the ghastly fate that could have befallen her had not the Southron slain her tormentor. "My sister and I had adopted the disguise of boys, hoping that if any of your men should come upon us, we would not be recognized..." Though the slaver did not comment on this disclosure, she saw his eyes flicker with newfound understanding, the hint of a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "However, ah," she averted her eyes and cleared her throat, "it seems that these orcs like other..."<br/><br/>"Males. Aye, I know." He nodded his head. "But continue."<br/><br/>"When Sharapul found out that my sister was not a boy, he became enraged. He then came for me, and I fainted dead away. While I lay in a stupor, he and his friend must have come to blows, for when I awoke, his friend lay dead upon the ground. Sharapul blamed me for his demise. It was his intent to – to take out his vengeance upon me. He was going to rip off my toenails and then skin me alive! That is why he bound me to this tree, so I - I could not escape!" Elfhild's voice quavered and then broke with emotion. She began sobbing, her body shaking against the ropes which bound her.</p><p>Esarhaddon glanced away from her to where Âmbalfîm lay. "What you say does not surprise me; these half-breeds such as Sharapul are sometimes worse than the pure strains, for they combine man's cunning with orc treachery. Aberrations are common when monsters are mixed with man." He turned back to the captive girl and studied her intently. "Your lip is split - I suppose the bastard did that to you." His voice was gentle as he touched a finger to her mouth.<br/><br/>"Aye, lord," she whispered, disarmed by his concern. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and her legs seemed to melt under her. For once she was glad for the ropes which supported her.<br/><br/>"And your cheek is bruised here... and here..." He lightly stroked the blotches where the orc had struck her. "The injuries will heal quickly and leave no blemish to harm your beauty," he murmured softly as his fingers wiped away one of her tears.</p><p>"You… you came just in time," Elfhild grudgingly admitted, her cheeks reddening as she looked away.</p><p>Esarhaddon’s hand slid under her chin to lift her face up to look up into his. "Now tell me," he commanded her, a harsh glint in his eyes, "what has become of the third uruk who traveled with Sharapul and his catamite?"<br/><br/>"I do not know... While I was running from the orcs, I fainted," she admitted sheepishly, embarrassed by her own weakness.<br/><br/>A gloating, supercilious look of triumph upon his face, he chuckled. "My gentle beauty, need I remind you that none of this would have happened to you had you not run away from me?" The flush on Elfhild’s face deepened, and she averted her eyes in shame. "Ha! You need not answer that. Your expression tells all. Now there are other matters which must be addressed. This other uruk - was he involved in the killing of the old man whom we found up the trail?"<br/><br/>"All three of them ambushed us, but it was that heartless monster, the one you slew, who killed Tarlanc," Elfhild grated out, anger surging through her at the thought of the death of that poor old man. "I am sure of that!" Then, her expression turning puzzled, she asked, "Why do you want to know?"<br/><br/>"So I might know whether my men and I should hunt him down and kill him. Do not think that this has anything to do with the dead man. He is nothing to me, for he was a Gondorian and an enemy of my people. What is of importance, however, is whether or not the uruk blatantly disobeyed my orders and went after booty with the others. If he did, he will die! All of my servants must obey me!" Moving closer to her, he traced the contour of her chin with his hand. "Man maintains a tenuous rule over the uruks. If we do not control these beasts and keep them under the iron grip of discipline, they will kill us all. Now we will speak no more of this, for there is a matter of far more immediate import."<br/><br/>"What is it?" Elfhild felt herself tensing at the slaver’s words, for there was an intensity in his face which frightened her. Tied to the tree as she was, she was utterly helpless and completely at his mercy, and she worried that this Haradric slave trader might possess only a small share of that esteemed virtue.</p><p>"Know that I am a just and merciful man, and so for that reason, I offer you a choice between servitude and freedom. I would not have you go into slavery against your best interests. Therefore, as an unwed maiden with no protector and no fortune of your own and far from your home and kin, you must admit that for your well-being and protection, you accept the necessity of servitude." His fingers lightly brushed over her neck where the slave collar had once rested. The slaver's face was very close to hers, their lips almost touching. His breath, tinged with mint, struck her cheek in soft puffs as he spoke. His body smelled of horse sweat, saddle leather, and some mysterious aroma which reminded her of a fragrant wood. Overpowering everything else was the aroma of his perspiration, an intensely masculine scent.<br/><br/>"And what if I will not?" Elfhild looked up at him questioningly. Though she did not want to admit it, his words held the bitter ring of truth. She was all alone in a brutal, heartless world, with no way to provide for herself and no one to protect her from the many threats which lurked in the wilderness.<br/><br/>"Then if you elect to remain free, I shall not gainsay you. If you agree to this, when I file all the appropriate papers with the Mordorian government, I will state that you perished in the attempt to escape, and your body was never found. It will be as though you had never existed. Far better that matters should stand this way than for me to persuade you to accept slavery when you feel that it is in your best interests to do otherwise. If you prefer freedom, it is yours; take it with my blessing!"<br/><br/>Elfhild raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You mean you would really let me go?" Surely there was some catch. Nothing that sounded this good could be true.<br/><br/>"Aye. I am a man of my word. You are free to go," he replied, brushing his fingertips lightly over her cheek.<br/><br/>"Are you not going to untie me?"<br/><br/>"Ahhh," he lay a hand upon his forehead and sighed mournfully, "That cannot be done, for when I grant you freedom, I will release you from my power, and thus I will have no more part in your destiny. If you can devise some way of untying your bonds, I will have no objections. Though I will not aid you, I will do nothing to prevent your escape." Beneath his heavy eyelids, he looked at her sorrowfully, the corners of his mouth turning down even more dejectedly. "Though I wish that it might be otherwise," he murmured softly, "our time together has drawn to a close. The moment of departure is at hand and now I must say farewell. Go in peace."</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Choices</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>"Surely you would not leave me here to die!" Elfhild’s tear-filled eyes raised pleadingly up to his, searching his inscrutable expression for some sign of mercy. "You just saved my life! That - that monster was going to torture me to death! How could you simply abandon me now?"</p><p>"It was your own choice, not mine," Esarhaddon replied somberly. "You have refused my offer, preferring freedom over slavery. Now you are free. Still I would take pity upon you and not leave you bereft of all comfort. Therefore, we shall part upon good terms and with a kiss of farewell."</p><p>With the raw zeal of a lion pouncing upon his prey, Esarhaddon grasped her face in both hands and kissed the astounded girl first on one cheek and then the other. Too shocked and confused to protest, Elfhild looked up at him, her blue eyes wide. The slaver's hungry lips sought her mouth as though it were a comb dripping with honey. As his hard, unrelenting mouth consumed hers, sucking at her tongue and drawing the sweet nectar out with it, a little gasp of protest escaped her lips before his kisses smothered her outcry into moans. His strong hands caressed her body between the ropes, his touch searing her flesh. Her breath came harsh and quick as the ropes crossing about her breasts squeezed them tighter and thrust them out against the slaver's chest. Her eyes fluttered closed as he pulled the braid from behind her shoulder and began to loosen the silken tresses. The slaver was almost tender as he sifted the strands between his fingers. In the depths of her being, she sensed that this man could be a gentle lover if he wished, but he must first possess and force a woman to his will. She wondered if he could ever drop his guard and allow anyone to see his soul beneath his unyielding urge to dominate.</p><p>Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, his taunting lips slipped away from hers, leaving them bruised and wet from his harsh mouth. Her face flushed crimson with shame, for she knew that he was fully aware of how her traitorous body had reacted to his touch. His fingers curling under her chin, the pad of a thumb pushing against her lower lip, he laughed in her face.</p><p>"Remember this caress, for there will be no others." Bending down, he kissed her gently on the forehead. Giving her a last sad look, he pivoted on his heel and strode to his horse.</p><p>"No! Wait! Please! Do not leave me here! I will starve to death! Please take me with you!" Utterly and completely astonished, her hopes broken, Elfhild watched the slaver walk away. </p><p>For a heavyset man, Esarhaddon carried his weight well, and when he swung into the saddle, he was as agile as a leopard. "Farewell!" he called out. Inclining his head, he touched his fingers to his chest and turned his horse to ride away.</p><p>"No! Wait!" Elfhild screamed, straining against the ropes which held her securely to the tree. "I never said I rejected your offer! Do not leave me! Please do not leave me! Mercy! Mercy!" Panic surged through her, and she began to sob hysterically. She would die out here in the wilderness!</p><p>She saw his wide shoulders straighten as his head turned sharply to one side. He had heard her! A touch of the rein on the mare's neck, and Ka'adara turned back obediently. He looked down at Elfhild for a long moment before dismounting. She gasped in fear as the slaver unsheathed his knife and walked briskly towards her. She saw the dagger slicing through the air towards her face, and she screamed, closing her eyes tightly, waiting for the death blow. As the flat side of the steel kissed her throat, she heard the slaver's mocking laugh, and her body went limp.</p><p>The slaver swiftly cut the ropes which held her to the tree, and when she fell forward, his arms were there to catch her. She was too weak and shaky to stand on her own, and, bracing her against the tree, he sliced through the cords which bound her wrists together. Cursing to himself at the sheer number of ropes which the orc had used to tie the girl, Esarhaddon cut through the final bonds, freeing her breasts from the hated cords. Elfhild felt an overwhelming surge of gratitude, but she was too shaken to speak. Then his strong, muscular arms were around her, lowering her to the ground. Through a dark sea of confusion and pain, Elfhild heard his husky voice murmuring softly in the seductive language of the Haradrim.</p><p>Kneeling in front of her, he briskly rubbed her numb limbs. She struggled to a sitting position, and her hands shook as she clumsily tried to cover her bare breasts with the tatters of her tunic. As the imprisoned blood poured through the restricted vessels within her arms and chest, pain exploded in a million bursting torrents. Moaning in agony, Elfhild sagged against the slaver and sobbed upon his shoulder. He cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her face up to his. With a finger, he traced the meandering trail of a teardrop down her cheek. </p><p>"Perhaps you will find that the yoke of slavery is not such a heavy burden to bear, but we shall see." He smiled at her look of frightened uncertainty, and felt a sudden warmth in his groin. Disentangling himself from her clinging arms, he stood up and stepped over to his mount. Soon he had returned with a waterskin, and, kneeling down, he held the opening to her parched lips.</p><p>"Drink deeply and forget the terrors of the past, my little beauty. Fate has smiled upon you, and you will find that now you have many other things with which to occupy your mind." He flashed her a grin, his full, sensual lips parting to reveal strong white teeth.</p><p>Elfhild looked up into the seething depths of the Southron's dark brown orbs, which boldly proclaimed endless torrid nights of steaming passion wrapped in his strong arms. She felt herself close to fainting. "Thank you... my lord," she mumbled weakly, struggling to bring her trembling hand up to steady the waterskin. What a fearful thing to fall into the hands of this fierce man! Perhaps she should have chosen to remain tied to the tree, but it was too late to turn back. Whatever the future brought, she and her sister must survive and stay together and hope that the winds of fate might change their direction in time. But, oh, how she dreaded to think what abuse and degradation might have to be endured until then!</p><p>"Already the color is beginning to return to your pale cheeks, a sign that you are regaining your strength," he announced, bringing his fingertips up to stroke over her cheek. His hand trailed down over her chin and under her jaw, exploring more as it dipped further down her torso. "Now what have I found here?" he asked as he pushed aside her hand, which had been desperately trying to hold together her torn tunic.</p><p>"No! Please! Do not!" she whimpered. </p><p>"Hush, girl! I am only trying to determine how severely your breasts have been damaged. Blemishes will lower your price." His fingers lightly touched the many bruises, cuts and scratches which marred her skin. "Those accursed ropes came close to cutting off the flow of blood! You probably know what would have happened had that occurred - your breasts would have rotted off." He frowned as he saw the look of fear in her eyes. "Now do not be frightened. I believe I found you in time to save you. Now I need to find something for you to wear. Although I have enjoyed feasting my gaze upon these luscious pomegranates, you cannot go around naked, especially since my men will be here soon." He rose to his feet. "I have a spare shirt in my saddlebags. That will have to do until we return to the caravan."</p><p>He walked to his horse and returned with a green shirt, much too large for her. "Here, cover yourself with this," he ordered her as he tossed her the garment.</p><p>"Thank you, my lord," she answered dully, turning away from him to strip off her old tunic. As she hastily pulled the new one over her head, she heard the pounding hooves of many horses. </p><p>Esarhaddon turned to face the sound, and, shading his eyes with his hand, gazed across the clearing. "Do not be afraid, little beauty. Those are my men." He smiled. "They must have finished with the task of disposing of the uruk's body and are now coming this way. If you will look there to the edge of the clearing," he motioned with a wave of his hand, "you will see a horse double-ridden trailing behind the others. That will be my man Inbir with your sister."</p><p>Following the sweep of his hand, Elfhild looked at the approaching horsemen, and her eyes lit up with joy when she saw her sister. She sent up a silent prayer to the Gods that Elffled had been able to escape the orcs. Now, though, she worried what the Southrons might do to her twin… what they might do to them both. Truly she and Elffled must have been born under an ill-fated star, to live in such horrible times.</p><p>Esarhaddon's men whooped and shouted as they trotted their horses into the clearing. Inbir had finally caught up with the others, and he looked past Elfhild as though she were part of the scenery. The four loyal uruks, who had been loping along behind, halted at a distance from the riders, spears held in their hands as they silently waited for new orders. Elffled, riding behind Inbir, peeked shyly around his shoulder at her sister.</p><p>"Silim, Shakh Esarhaddon uHuzziya," Ubri bowed, touching his hand to his heart. "It took us a while to cut a pole, but now the filthy uruk's head rests atop it, giving a warning that steel is a harsh vindicator. There, Sharapul's body will remain until the carrion birds, flies and wild animals have had a meal of him." Laughing, Ubri looked sideways at Ganbar, who sat slouching in the saddle. "My lord, did you know that we have a wit of surpassing excellence amongst us? I was never aware of his marvelous talent either, until Ganbar wrote an appropriate epitaph. It did not faze him a bit to affix his rare poetry to the brute's chest with a horseshoe nail."</p><p>"Perhaps not a literary achievement as those things go," Ganbar drawled as he turned his lanky frame in the saddle and smiled at Ubri. "But considering that I wrote it in the language that the beasts know, they should have no trouble in understanding it."</p><p>"Aye, Ganbar, a scholar is not needed to ascertain your meaning. My favorite part was, 'While Sharapul lost his head after he was stiff and dead, at least he kept the part that was dearest to his heart.'" Laughing, Ubri turned his gaze to Âmbalfîm's lifeless form. "Now, Lord Esarhaddon, what about the other dirty uruk who still lies yonder, stiffening in the sun and providing a bed for maggots?"</p><p>"Treat him the same as the other one!" Esarhaddon looked scornfully over to Âmbalfîm's body. "Decapitate the bastard and mount his head upon a pole. These rebels must learn the price of treachery! And if they are not capable of learning that, they must all be killed, every last one!" </p><p>"Aye, my lord Esarhaddon. We will put him beside the other so that all those who pass by will know fear." He turned to the four loyal uruks. "See to it, lads!"</p><p>Smiling maliciously, Farmak stepped forward. "Captain Ubri, with your permission, I might suggest something, a bit of devilishness that is common among the uruks."</p><p>"What is it?" Ubri asked, curious as to what the orc would suggest.</p><p>"Well, sir, it's like this. Sometimes when you've been wronged so bad, nothin' feels so good as takin' special vengeance upon your enemy. First slice off 'is stones and stuff them in 'is mouth; then you piss on 'im." His yellow eyes bright and gleaming, Farmak leaned forward, waiting for the captain's answer.</p><p>"I will have to think on that one for a moment," Ubri replied, laughing. Taking the wineskin from the pommel of his saddle, he drank deeply. "Although it is a harsh practice, the uruks are not the only ones known for their brutality. I have heard of this very thing done in Harad." He took another drink. "Go ahead. Let the lesson be a hard one." The other uruks and men nodded in agreement.</p><p>Then, suddenly, surprising them all, Elffled peered from around Inbir’s back and shyly spoke up. "My lords, if you may allow me to speak, there is something that I wish to say."</p><p>"Who speaks? Ah, the other sister." Esarhaddon turned his head to look at Elffled. "Yes, little beauty, you may speak. Inbir, bring her closer so that I might see her better," the slaver replied, letting his gaze roam over her body. His men knew the meaning of that appraising look in his eyes. Their lusty master was already seeing the lovely houri lying naked upon silken cushions in his bedchamber. His sultry eyes caught hers, and she looked down in embarrassment, a pink blush spreading over her cheeks.</p><p>"My lord," Elffled began, her voice wavering slightly, "the dead uruk is known as Âmbalfîm." She paused, looking around at the men. "He was not like the other one, that Sharapul, who was a fiend. He attacked the other uruk to protect us, and told me to run away as fast as I could. I beg you not to desecrate his body, but give him a decent, honorable burial. I do not think that my sister and I would be alive today were it not for him." Tears sprang up in her lovely blue eyes, and she looked away.</p><p>"My lord, this Âmbalfîm was a coward, a lover of 'is own gender!" Farmak protested, for he had never been a friend of Âmbalfîm. "'E must have bewitched this silly girl!"</p><p>"Silence, Farmak!" Esarhaddon growled. "I never asked for your opinion."</p><p>Muttering to himself, Farmak hunched his shoulders and fell silent. The other uruks shuffled their feet, none of them willing to call down the fury of Esarhaddon upon themselves. The men watched in silence, each one holding his own council.</p><p>Stroking his beard thoughtfully as he weighed the matter in his mind, Esarhaddon never let his dark brown eyes leave Elffled's frightened face. "I do not believe the girl would lie about this. I will grant her request. Let it be done as she has said," his deep voice boomed out. "Villainy must always be punished while honor is rewarded, whether it is orc or man!" He looked to the scowling Farmak. "You and your lads tend to the burial of Âmbalfîm and treat his body with respect. Now go!" </p><p>The slaver waited until the uruks had trotted away before turning to his men. "This has been one hell of a day, and it is still the afternoon!" Esarhaddon was clearly disgusted. "Sometimes I wonder if there are not better ways of making a living." He turned to look to where the uruks had begun to dig Âmbalfîm's grave, and then glanced at Ubri. "Captain, we will rest here a few hours before turning south. Have your men set up camp in that grove of trees over there." He motioned with his hand to a cluster of tall, stately oaks. "That should be far enough away that we do not have to smell the stench of the ugly brute. Corpses make for poor companions at meals."</p><p>"As you wish, my lord." Ubri inclined his head slightly and then glanced at the twins. "And the slave girls? Do you want them tied up and guarded?"</p><p>"No, Captain," he replied, a gleam of desire flickering in his dark eyes. "We have spent too much time and effort in recapturing them, and I am going to indulge myself by gazing at their beauty while I eat."</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Slavery or Death</h2></a>
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    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>The burial party of orcs had little respect for the dead Âmbalfîm, who had been so different from the rest of the uruks. A man lover, they had called him, a pussy boy, an elf. He and his lover were a disgrace to their kind, worthy only to be ostracized and shunned. As they shoveled the dirt from his grave, the uruks laughed, and the crude jokes came easily to their lips.</p><p>"We should have buried old Sharapul in the same grave with 'is little catamite," Farmak laughed as he threw a shovelful of dirt out of the pit. "That way, 'e could plug 'is bum boy for all eternity!"</p><p>"You're too merciful," Shatog scoffed. "We should have cut off their pricks and ballocks and let 'em go out into the dark unknown as eunuchs! Males lovin' males just ain't right!" He shook his head and spat to the side. "It's downright Elvish! Some of the old ways comin' through, I guess. Even the best of us ain't immune to our heritage!" The uruk paused for a moment, then quickly added, "Not that I'd ever swive with another male."</p><p>"Maybe it's not right for males to mate with each other, but I don't mind a bit watchin' the females go at it," Zaanûrz interjected, licking his lips. "You ever seen 'em?" he called up to Tûrum, who was lounging against a tree as he waited his turn to dig. </p><p>"Maybe I have." Tûrum grinned. "There ain't much privacy in a camp, and admit it, lads, most of us have seen 'em drink from the furry cup at one time or another." He turned to the fresh skin of draught that he had just opened. "Makes the prick go stiff just to look at 'em. When you see one of the wenches go down with 'er mouth between another one's thighs, lickin' and slurpin'," he paused, closing his eyes as he remembered, "you just can't control yourself!"</p><p>"What a little sneak you are, Tûrum," Shatog leered. "You like to creep around, don't you, and peek at 'em late at night when you 'ear 'em pantin' and moanin', all hot and bothered under the blankets!"</p><p>"Well," Tûrum smiled sheepishly. "Maybe..."</p><p>"Enough of this talk, you maggots!" Farmak growled, growing irritated at how little work had been accomplished. "Digging this grave is going to take all day at this rate! Now, Tûrum, if you can keep your mind off the slit-lickers, you can start digging in this 'ole while I take a rest." Climbing from the grave, he threw the shovel to Tûrum, who ducked as the shovel whizzed by his head.</p><p>While the uruks readied the grave for the dead Âmbalfîm, Esarhaddon's men had put the matter from their minds, and only Elffled really cared that the uruk had died. The party's horses were of much greater concern to the men, for the animals were weary after having been ridden hard for a number of days. Before the men tended to their own needs, they cooled down the horses, watered them and tied them to the picket line. As the horses contentedly munched oats from their feed bags, the men sat cross-legged on the ground and waited for Esarhaddon's slave boy Ásal to serve them their meal of dried meat, flatbread, and tea.</p><p>The twins had been provided reed mats upon which they could sit under the trees. The men stayed apart from them, laughing and talking together in their own language, occasionally glancing at the girls and smiling. The sisters were glad to be left alone by their captors. Their minds still reeled from the bloody ambush in the forest which had claimed the lives of Tarlanc, his faithful dog Haun, and his two horses, Mithril and Sparrow. It seemed so strange; only yesterday, they had been riding through the wasteland of Anórien with the old miller, listening to him play his mouth harp and tell stories from his younger days. Now he was dead, as well as his two horses and his beloved dog. One day he was there, and the next he was gone. How the world could change in an instant!</p><p>Elfhild could still hear Sharapul’s growling voice as he threatened to mutilate her body in horrible, unspeakable ways. She longed to take a bath, for she still felt his rough hands groping over her skin, leaving her feeling tainted and dirty. If only she could stop thinking about the torments she received at his hands, but the scenes were too fresh and vivid in her mind. She longed to escape into some magic land where everything was beautiful and everyone was happy and at peace. There was no escape, though. The images ground around and around in her head like the wheels of a mill. </p><p>Her heart felt barren and empty, sorrow rendering her spirits lethargic. How was it that she still lived? She should have died at the hands of Sharapul, but her life had been spared by the timely arrival of the Southrons. Perhaps she deserved to die. It was all her fault that Tarlanc had been murdered, for if he had never helped her, he would still be alive. She had brought him only misfortune and pain. She and her sister had only known him for a few days, and he had told them so much about himself. Had he known that he was going to die? Had the twins come to him like maidens of Death, the choosers of the slain, to bear him away to the other side? Fresh tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. A glance at Elffled revealed that she, too, was softly weeping.</p><p>Elfhild’s grim thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Ásal approaching with a tray of food in his hands. "Little mistresses, I did not mean to startle you." Bowing courteously, Ásal served the girls hot mint tea and bread. He noticed the tears on the twins' faces, and knew that they were grieving. His training had prepared him to handle distraught girls in the harem, and he found that the best way to calm them was with soothing, meaningless words. "Permit me to introduce myself; I am called Ásal," he told them in a whisper, giving them an admiring look. "Forgive this poor one, but if his mouth did not speak, he would die of sorrow! Your eyes are as deep as wells! Glowing like the stars, they are every bit as captivating as those of the dark-eyed lovelies who walk about the souks with their servants. Of course," he added with a bright smile that spread across his face, "those women are veiled. Thanks be to fate - you are not!"</p><p>Puzzled, Elfhild asked, "Why are the women veiled?" The boy's barrage of words had come too fast for her to absorb them, but she had never heard such words of flattery from the mouth of anyone. They rolled off his tongue effortlessly, as though he had practiced them for hours until he had them perfect.</p><p>"What is a souk?" inquired her equally confused sister.</p><p>The boy's eyes grew wide in surprise. "Mistresses do not know?"</p><p>"Why would we be asking if we knew?" Elffled could not resist a giggle.</p><p>"Oh, Mistress," the boy brought his hand up to his mouth, flushing under his dark skin, "you would not know, would you? No, of course not! Forgive this poor slave for his stupidity!" Taking a quick glance behind him and finding Ubri and the other men occupied with their own conversations, Ásal went on, his whispered words tumbling out one after another. "In many parts of Harad and Khand, the wives, concubines, daughters and slave girls of rich and important men are veiled. This shows their great modesty and high status. Peasant women who work in the fields seldom wear veils, and instead wrap scarves about their heads to protect themselves from the sun. Only foreigners, women of certain tribes, prostitutes, and the lowliest of slave girls go about with nothing upon their heads." Ásal beamed as he saw understanding slowly dawn upon their faces. "You would like the souk, for it is a marketplace where goods of every nature and description are bought and sold. This poor, worthless slave boy hopes that he has answered all questions to your satisfaction."</p><p>"Why do you call us 'mistresses' and insult yourself with these horrible, ugly words?” Elfhild asked, appalled by the belittling words that the boy used to describe himself. "Please do not! We are slaves, just as you."</p><p>Elffled had lost interest in Ásal's attempts at conversation, for she found his constant deprecating chatter irritating. Why did he have to pick a moment like this to talk about these strange foreign customs? There had been a bloodbath under the trees which had claimed the lives of a very dear friend, his dog and horses, as well as two uruks. She was in no mood to hear silly talk about a marketplace in a land far away. </p><p>"Does little Mistress not know?" Puzzled at so much ignorance, Ásal rolled his eyes skyward. "Harem girls such as you are considered on a higher level than low-ranking eunuchs like me, who are as dirt beneath your esteemed, lovely feet."</p><p>"What is a 'harem?' What is a 'eunuch?'" Elfhild queried, her mind filled with questions. "I do not understand these foreign words." However, her questions were never answered, for the conversation was interrupted by Ubri's impatient voice.</p><p>"Hurry along there, you lazy boy!" Ubri growled as he walked up to them. "We will be staying here only long enough to bury the old man, his animals, and the uruk, and then we will be leaving."</p><p>"The old man, as you call him, had a name," Elfhild spoke up angrily, surprising the captain and the servant boy with her temerity. "He was Tarlanc, the miller of Ivrenslaer, and he was a true and good friend to my sister and me." She lifted her gaze and looked directly into the captain's eyes. "The uruk, too, had a name, Âmbalfîm, and he was not some beast to be thrown into a hole and forgotten. Were it not for him, my sister might not be alive!" Though she would probably incur this Southron's wrath with her bold words, she could not stand to hear the men talk about Tarlanc so disrespectfully.</p><p>"Here I thought that Rohirric women were all ice, but I see that some have fire in their veins." Ubri laughed, but the smile never went to his eyes, which remained cold and aloof. "We will give the Tark a decent burial, girl, though his people never meant mine any good." He was unused to seeing so much independence in a female slave, and he found the quality irritating. He would forgive her impertinence this one time, though, for the girl was probably too grief-stricken to know what she was saying. "The shakh has also ordered that the uruk will receive the same for his part in aiding you, though if it were left up to me, I would not be so gracious."</p><p>"Thank you, sir," Elfhild replied quietly. It was painful to speak of Tarlanc, and she felt the tears welling up in her eyes. "How sad it is for him to be buried in this wilderness with no one to mourn for him," she murmured, her voice breaking in a sob.</p><p>"No more talk, girl! I have more important things to do than listen to the babble of slave girls." Ubri turned back to Ásal, who had been watching the proceedings with wide eyes. "You, boy, do not stand with your mouth gaping open like a fish! Return to your master and see to his needs and those of the other men."</p><p>"Yes, Captain, my feet rush to obey with joy and gladness!" the boy stammered, rapidly snapping to attention. "I live to serve!"</p><p>"Live to serve! Then be quiet, you simpering fool!" the captain growled. "You are a lazy, impertinent whelp, worthy only of beating! If you were my slave, I would be tempted to have your tongue torn out of your mouth!" His face dark with anger, Ubri turned on his heel and strode away, not even waiting to acknowledge the slave's humble bow.</p><p>"Little mistresses," Ásal turned to look at them, "you have angered Captain Ubri, which is never a wise thing to do! In the future, it would be well to stay out of his way!" He shook his head sadly. "I will return when I am allowed. Please do not be disheartened." His large, luminous eyes were soft with sympathy. "Remember, you have a friend in Ásal!" He flashed them the quick sight of pearly white teeth, bowed, and then followed Ubri.</p><p>"Friend?" Elffled snorted softly when the boy was out of hearing range. "Do we have any friends among these foreign people?"</p><p>"He seems harmless enough," Elfhild replied. "At least he is not a bully like Captain Ubri." The conversation with the slave boy had made her realize just how different she was from her captors. He had used so many unfamiliar words and spoke of odd customs, like women wearing veils. "These Southrons are so strange! I wonder how we will ever survive living amongst them." She sighed woefully. "Maybe this Ásal can help us understand their ways."</p><p>"If he can stop flattering us long enough to talk about something sensible," Elffled grumbled. "From what I have seen of him, he is a pretentious flatterer, and I do not trust him."</p><p>"We have more to worry about than the boy," Elfhild whispered. "You might not have noticed, but the slaver has left his men and is coming straight for us!"</p><p>The twins' hearts sank as Esarhaddon approached. Uncertain what to do, they froze in place, cringing against each other in fear. When he reached them, his perpetually hooded eyes regarded them sadly. Sighing deeply, he bent down and took Elffled's hands, lifting her up to meet his mournful gaze.</p><p>"My gentle one," he murmured in a voice tinged with tears, "with what I must tell you, my heart breaks as though it were a crystal vase dropped by a careless hand. Shattered upon a hard mosaic floor, it lies there ruined, the light now catching its slivered pieces and spinning the reflections away in a million glittering beams. Though it may have some transitory glitter, its usefulness is destroyed forever. Such it is with my heart."</p><p>Her brow furrowing in concern, Elffled timidly looked up at the slaver. "What is wrong, lord? Why are you so troubled?" His large hands tightened on her small ones. How strong was his grip! He could easily snap her neck with those hands if she displeased him. The thought terrified her, and she swallowed hard, her throat tightening.</p><p>"Ah, my tender white dove of the North, the winds of fortune blow first one way and then another. Never do we know what will be our ultimate destiny until the final accounting. No one knows which fragrant, delicate blossom upon the bough of the fruit tree will be able to withstand the cold blast of late spring to survive and bear fruit in the autumn." Giving them another gentle squeeze, he released her hands and backed away a step.</p><p>Though his words were kind and his touch gentle, Elffled grew increasingly more tense, fearing what foreboding conclusion his words would bring. She clutched the material of her tunic to keep her fingers from trembling. Growing increasingly more nervous, she chewed upon her lower lip and then gulped before asking again, "What is wrong, my lord?"</p><p>As though stricken by some sorrow too profound to express, his soulful eyes plumbed into the depths of her being. He sighed and gently placed his hands upon her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "Your fate rests upon your reply to my question."</p><p>"What is it?" she gasped, wringing the hem of her tunic.</p><p>Looking at her sadly, Esarhaddon gently squeezed her shoulders once and then released her. His right hand was instantly on the hilt of his scimitar. To her horror, he slid the weapon from its sheath and held it poised above her head.</p><p>"Your choice is slavery or death. Which will you choose?" His mournful eyes gazed down sorrowfully into hers.</p><p>Too astonished to speak or move, Elffled gaped at the slaver in horror. Spasms of terror shot through her body like little bolts of lightning, but all she could do was stand there as though she had been turned to stone. Her brain was so terrified that it could not even form sensible thoughts, much less entreaties for mercy. She could hear Elfhild screaming, one long, fear-tormented wail which seemed to reverberate from the trees.</p><p>"Is freedom worth death to you? That seems such a waste, but the decision is yours. You must choose now, for I will tarry here no longer!" Limbering up his muscles to deliver a killing blow, he swept the blade in an arc three times from right to left, reversing the weapon at each turn.</p><p>"S-slavery!" Elffled choked out hoarsely, her voice a rasping croak. "I chose slavery!" Falling to her knees, she clung to his legs, sobbing into his pantaloons. "Mercy! Mercy!" </p><p>"Mercy begged is mercy granted." With another look down at her, he drove his scimitar into its sheath, metal sliding against metal and ending with a firm clank. Sobbing hysterically, Elffled clung to him, gathering up the loose material of his pantaloons in her hands and kneading the cloth in her fingers. Laying his hand lightly upon the trembling girl's head, he stroked her hair, softly murmuring over and over, "Buzur, tur ash; buzur, tur ash."</p><p>"Do not weep, little one. You shall not die," he assured her. "Now rise to your feet." He paused, his gaze drawn to one of the uruks who had just returned and was in deep conversation with Ubri. "It is time for us to leave this place."</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Sorrowful Road</h2></a>
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    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>The Southrons broke camp a little while after the return of the uruk. They mounted up and turned their horses' heads towards the east. Although the twins' wills had been subjugated by threats of abandonment or execution, the slave trader still considered them as rebels who would bolt at the first opportunity. Not wishing to chance losing two such valuable female slaves to another foolhardy escape attempt, Esarhaddon had ordered their hands bound in front of them. He had assigned one man to lead each of their horses - Ganbar was to supervise Elfhild and Inbir was appointed to be the keeper of Elffled.</p><p>The slaver, of course, was not aware that, in spite of her sorrow, Elffled's eyes had begun to stray to Inbir. When he had rescued her in the wilderness, he had seemed so kind and chivalrous, unlike the head slaver, who was heartless and cruel. Unfortunately, Elffled recalled that her new friend Aeffe had also expressed an interest in the handsome young Southron. Did Inbir feel the same way for Aeffe as she did for him?</p><p>Riding in line behind the men, the twins wondered at the uproarious laughter and raucous talk in Haradric which drifted back down the line. As Esarhaddon and Ubri rode at the head of the small column of riders, the slaver described again for his lieutenant how he had deceived the two naive peasant girls into believing that he would either abandon them to death or kill them if they refused to embrace slavery. The ruse was an old one which the slaver had used a number of times before, but still he found it effective and very amusing.</p><p>"Ubri, you should have seen the little houri when I found her tied to the tree! When she looked up at me with her blue eyes wide and pleading, the sight would have been enough to melt the heart of any other man!"</p><p>"But not yours, my lord," Ubri chuckled, enjoying his master's deceitful ploy which had tricked the innocent girls into accepting slavery.</p><p>"Nay, never mine, for I am a man of trade and commerce, and it does not pay to have a heart when it comes to business. New slaves are ignorant, and while they have a fear of the unknown at first, they must be taught the specific fear of their masters. The little beauties will be far more tractable and give us less trouble if they think that the threat of death constantly looms over their pretty heads. All I care about, Ubri, is what I can get out of them at the market, and I judge that they will bring the highest prices of any of the lot!" Esarhaddon exclaimed enthusiastically, his voice firm with conviction.</p><p>"Aye, Shakh, they should sell well," Ubri nodded agreeably. "...If they ever arrive at the auction block," he thought to himself. "I am not convinced that you can resist the urge to take these luscious little houris to your bed. Once you have had a taste of them, you might find you want to keep them for yourself! You would do far better with them than you would with that cold Northern witch, Goldwyn. Why you should want her is more than any of us can understand."</p><p>Ubri smiled wryly to himself. "Sometimes, my lord, you perplex me. You say you have no heart, but I suspect that you deceive yourself. Aye, it will be interesting to see if you actually possess such an organ, or if you will maintain the rigid mastery you have over yourself and not give into temptation. I know this: if you can resist these beautiful twin sisters, you are a far stronger man than I, for I would rush to these oh-so-delightful temptations upon swift feet!" Ubri, of course, said nothing to the shakh of his private musings and kept his own council.</p><p>As the small party rode east, they came to a mound of stones, a cairn raised over the body of the mare Mithril. Even though the girls had seen her fall, it was difficult to believe that the beautiful horse lay deep within the earth, stones mounded over her body. It was unbearable to think that she would never again run free as the wind through the fields of Anórien, never gently nuzzle their hands when they offered her a treat, never whicker at them when they called her name. She had been mercilessly slain by the uruks in the employ of that monster who now held their destiny in his hands!</p><p>"Rest in peace, brave mare," Elfhild murmured, lifting up her bound hands and wiping away a tear with her fingers as they passed the grave.</p><p>"Love and gratitude are in my heart for you, sweet Mithril," Elffled silently intoned as she raised a prayer for the mare's safekeeping to Nahar, the charger of Béma. </p><p>Elfhild managed to hold back the sobs as she turned to the slaver. "Lord Esarhaddon, thank you for giving Mithril a burial that was fitting to her faithfulness. She was a fine horse." She gave him a shy, wavering smile. "May the Gods bless you for your kindness."</p><p>"The Gods?" the slaver shrugged. "I care nothing for the blessings or cursings of gods, especially foreign ones. I ordered that the animal be buried because the people of my land consider the horse a noble beast."</p><p>"A noble beast indeed, but the uruks were sorely put out, for they wanted to butcher the mare and enjoy a taste of fresh meat." Ganbar jerked his head back to where the sullen uruk was marching behind the horses. "I would not put it past them to cut off a haunch of horse meat and then bury what they did not eat."</p><p>"Speak in Haradric, Ganbar!" Ubri ordered sharply. "Do not upset the slave girls, or our ears will be tortured by their incessant weeping! I hate to hear a woman cry! Their wails sound like the shrill cries of squawking ravens!"</p><p>"As you will, Captain," Ganbar answered in the Southrons' native tongue. "You are right, of course. Such talk would only make them cry the longer and louder."</p><p>"Still, Ganbar, there is no doubt that uruks will eat anything, even each other." Ubri sounded disgusted. "You forget one thing, however. These lads know better than to disobey my orders! If you have any doubts, though, I will excuse you to go back and dig up the mare and prove it one way or the other. You can catch up with us as you can."</p><p>"No, Captain," Ganbar shook his head gloomily. "It would be too late to do anything about it anyway." As he rode by the grave, he silently cursed the uruks. "Murderous, vile beasts! They have a streak of wildness in them which affects their judgment. Even though Torû excels in archery, what did he think he was doing? Shooting enemies in battle? These are only young women, and he could just as easily have killed one of them with a miss-aimed arrow. I wonder what has become of him, but I suppose we will never know." He glanced at Elfhild, whose horse he was leading, and felt his heart beat faster.</p><p>Passing by the grave, the horsemen took the trail to the south, riding silently through the forest. The only sounds were the jingle of bridle and harness, the creak of saddle leather, and the rhythmic thudding of hooves upon dry earth. Here and there the forest pressed close along the trail, the somber trees looming forebodingly above them and casting bands of shadowy grayness over the path. Dread filled the girls' hearts as they continued along the trail, for soon they would reach the stream where Tarlanc, his horse and beloved dog had perished.</p><p>After traveling through the thick growth of trees, the riders came to a stretch of road that was open to the sunlight. Free of the dismal press of the forest, the Southrons resumed speaking quietly in their own tongue. Where the forest once again pressed close to the road, the men dropped their voices, peering often into the trees along the side of the trail. When the party approached the site of the ambush, a feeling of gloom seemed to permeate the clearing, drenching the land with sorrow. All around them were somber trees, blighted bushes, dried bracken and ferns, and the dry stems of wildflowers which had perished before they had ever blossomed. Chills went down the spines of the Southrons, and the uruk looked apprehensive, but none of them said anything of their discomfort.</p><p>The twins cast glances at each other, each one trying to reassure her sister with her eyes. Nearing the stream bank, they saw a large cairn in the blood-soaked clearing, many of the weathered stones encrusted with gray-white lichens, while dirt clung to the sides of others that had long rested in the ground. Ubri gave them no time to do more than glance at the grave before hurrying them down the bank and over the stream, where he signaled for the riders to halt on the opposite bank. There was a low hum of flies buzzing about the spilled blood which smeared the soil, and the stench of death still lingered in the air.</p><p>The girls felt waves of grief cascade over them, for obviously this was the burial place of Sparrow. But it was the long, narrow grave, dark in shadows and foreboding, which captured their attention, and each girl felt sorrow clench the pit of her stomach at the stark realization that this was the grave of Tarlanc. Not far from the grave, Farmak, Tûrum, and Zaanûrz lounged against the trunk of a barren larch tree, their shovels close by. They quickly stood to attention when the slaver's party halted a short distance away.</p><p>"Dismount, men, and show the girls to the burial place," Ubri's sharp order was almost an affront to the stillness of the clearing. "Our employer has graciously allowed them a short time to mourn." </p><p>Ganbar and Inbir exchanged glances before sliding off their horses' backs and helping the twins dismount. With a ragged sigh, Elfhild brushed more tears from her face as Ganbar put his arm around her shoulder to steady her. "Poor Tarlanc, to die so far away from home with no one except us to mourn for him," Elffled murmured sadly, keeping her gaze averted from the grave, for she could not bear to look.</p><p>"Slave girl, you are not being forced to see the grave against your will. You can remain at a distance while the fellows bury him," Ubri advised. </p><p>"Ubri speaks correctly," Esarhaddon interjected, watching the scene as he sat on his horse. "It is nothing to us if you attend this old Tark's funeral or not."</p><p>"No," Elfhild spoke up firmly. "My sister and I will watch. Someone needs to say a few words over his grave."</p><p>"Then let us get on with it." Ubri tied his horse to a scrubby bush and walked over to peer down into the pit. "It appears you lads stayed sober long enough to dig the hole deep," he remarked, his gaze going to the uruks. The four grave diggers' expressions were solemn, but their eyes held a malicious glint.</p><p>"Captain, we've done quite a bit of hard work, as you can see," Zaanûrz assured the captain. "The horses took the longest time, for their graves are longer and wider. You want 'em nice and deep so the wild beasts don't pilfer the graves." Smiling broadly and showing a set of black and broken teeth, the uruk patted the handle of his spade. "After you give the word, we'll have this one all nice and planted in no time!"</p><p>"We done 'em all fine and proper, as good as any graves you'd find in a Tark cemetery, Captain," Farmak added, his green eyes glinting like emeralds. "When we get this one finished, it will be as pretty a grave as anyone would ever wish! 'Tis a great shame and pity there were not some dainty little forest posies about these woods to plant around the poor devil's eternal bed!"</p><p>"Inanna's tits, man, I know sarcasm when I hear it! You would not plant flowers on any grave, even if it were your mother's!" Ubri glared at the uruk until the smirk disappeared from the brute's face. "It is bad fortune to leave a body unburied and exposed to the weather and beasts. Even if he was a Gondorian, none of us begrudge him a decent burial! Who knows which one of his gods might be watching and set himself to do us some mischief for our impertinence?" Ubri frowned at the three uruks, his stern expression daring any of them to protest. It was absurd to think that any of the spawn of the Dark Land would have the slightest bit of sympathy or compassion for another living thing.</p><p>"Yes, Captain," Farmak returned sullenly, glancing over at his fellows. "We meant nothing by our remarks."</p><p>"Then let us get this task completed, or we will be here all day." Ubri turned to Ganbar and Inbir, who had halted a few paces away from the pit. "Bring the women forward and let them lament in their own fashion. The old man is theirs to mourn, not ours, but we will allow them to shed their tears in peace." </p><p>"Captain," Ganbar replied as he and Inbir nudged the girls towards the grave, "do you want us to stay by them as they perform whatever rituals their people follow?"</p><p>"No," Ubri replied. "We will wait by the horses." He looked to the twins. "You have ten minutes to give your last farewell, no more; so be quick." </p><p>"Untie their hands for now," Esarhaddon commanded, the abruptness of his order surprising them all. "I doubt that even this clever pair can find a way to escape with the nine of us watching them." </p><p>The twins' hands were quickly freed, and as they rubbed their chafed wrists, they looked at the slaver with gratitude, but nothing could be read in his hooded gaze. "Thank you, my lord, for allowing us this moment." Elfhild inclined her head and waited for the men to leave before she and Elffled walked the last few steps that separated them from the resting place of their friend.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Morbid Thoughts, Dark and Dreary</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>The afternoon was pleasant, the weather warm and balmy, belying the sorrow of the tragedies of that day. Though the sun was shining brightly, a melancholy mood lay over the small clearing like a chill mist over a field. Like other places in Gondor and Rohan, the forest had suffered from a lack of sunlight caused by the thick clouds of smoke which had issued forth from the Mountain of Doom. Yet it was not the gloominess of their environs that weighed heavily upon the hearts of Elfhild and Elffled, but the memory of what had happened there just a few hours before. Deeper in the forest, birds chirped and called to each other, but around the site of the small skirmish, silence reigned, the crushing stillness seeming to press in upon the girls.</p><p>Halting suddenly, Elffled turned tear-filled eyes to her sister. "Oh, Elfhild, I cannot bear to behold Tarlanc's cold, dead face!" she sobbed, bringing her hands up to cover her eyes.</p><p>"You will not have to see him," Elfhild replied solemnly as she knelt by the grave and peered into the doleful chasm below. "It appears that they have laid him upon one of our blankets and wrapped him in one of the spare cloaks which he brought with us. You cannot see his face." Turning back to her sister, she managed a weak smile through the tears that cascaded down her cheeks.</p><p>"Aye, I see," Elffled whispered, kneeling beside the other girl. "And they placed poor dear old Haun there beside him!" Her tremulous lips twitched up in a tiny smile, and she tucked a sweaty strand of hair behind her ear. "That was thoughtful of them. Tarlanc would have liked that. Sparrow is buried not too far away, so they will all have each others' company."</p><p>Sniffing, Elfhild wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "Oh, Elffled, just think of what a beautiful place this will be when at last the trees are cloaked in leaves and the flowers are blooming!"</p><p>"I do not care how it might look. I never want to see this sorrowful place again!"</p><p>Sobbing softly, the sisters mourned their three valiant friends until the poignant moment was interrupted by Ubri's brisk reminder, "You have only a few minutes left!"</p><p>"Elfhild," her sister put an arm around her shoulder, "we must be going now. Our captors are becoming impatient." When the other girl did not reply, Elffled shook her gently. "Please get up!"</p><p>"Yes..." The word slipped past Elfhild's lips as a sighing murmur. Bracing her hand upon the ground, she forced her shaky legs to bear her up. She looked down into the pit before her, staring at the oblong shape of the body hidden beneath the cloak. Haun lay beside Tarlanc, his mouth open in a grimace of pain. Yet she was not looking at the unfortunate dog, but rather his master. The breeze had died down and now the air in the forest seemed stifling, musty even, like the stale air in a little-used cellar. The pace of time seemed to slow, each second lengthening like a coil being stretched to its breaking point.</p><p>Morbid thoughts insidiously crept into her mind. The dark green cloak obscured every feature of Tarlanc's body, hiding the silver strands of his gray hair, the wrinkles of his face, his gnarled old hands. He no longer looked like a person, but a thing, an object wrapped in an austere shroud of green. His heart no longer beat its steady rhythm; his lungs would never take in the floral-scented breezes of spring or the crisp winds of autumn. His life had fled from him to... to wherever the dead men of Gondor went.</p><p>He was just a corpse now, a faceless shape wrapped in green, a lifeless body of flesh and bone destined to molder beneath the earth, like a sack of refuse in a garbage heap discarded to rot away and be a home for generations of flies. A corpse like a soldier slain upon a battlefield, a small child who died of fever, a woman who killed herself because her lover rejected her. All cold and dead, whether by noble or ignoble causes. All just lifeless sacks of flesh and bone hidden beneath shrouds of cheerless material as stark and barren as death itself. All corpses. Tarlanc was a corpse just like them.</p><p>But, wait -- the green mass was not entirely without feature. Along the sides of his body, the folds of the cloak dipped down, resembling deep ravines, hollows, and trenches in the earth. Where the folds rose up again resembled mountains and ridges. His head was a rounded knoll; his chest and stomach a broad plateau; and his legs two ridges with a narrow valley running between them. How strange it was! How wondrously strange! As the years passed, his body would decompose into the dirt, and now already, wrapped in a cloak green as pine needles, it resembled the mountainous evergreen forests which rose up to the south of the clearing. </p><p>Elfhild's legs buckled, causing her to pitch forward. She fell, almost gracefully, into the grave, where she landed atop the old man's body, her face pressed against his silent heart.</p><p>"Elfhild!" her sister shrieked as she stood at the top of the grave, staring down into it in dismay. "Oh, Gods!"</p><p>His back turned to the scene of burial, Ubri had not been aware that anything was amiss. He spun around at the sound of the girl's piercing scream. Surprised when he did not see the second twin, he raced to the grave where he found Elffled, one hand muffling her sobs and the other pointing towards the dismal contents of the grave. </p><p>"She - she fainted!" Elffled wailed. "Oh, please, sir, rescue her!"</p><p>Giving Elffled a mystified sideways glance, Ubri peered into the grave and was shocked when he saw Elfhild's limp body sprawled over the corpse. Stunned, he jumped into the hole and landed beside Tarlanc's body. Kneeling beside the corpse, he turned the girl over onto her back. She lay there, pallid and unmoving, her eyes closed, her arms draped bizarrely over the sides of the dead man. A look of revulsion upon his face at the ghastly scene of the living and dead lying in the grave together, Ubri made the Haradric sign against evil before picking her up and rising to his feet.</p><p>Ganbar, who had been preparing to mount his horse, gave the reins to Ásal and ran to the grave. "Is she dead?" he called down to Ubri.</p><p>"No, at least she still breathes. Here, you take her," he muttered. "I will lift her up to you." Bracing her body against the earthen wall, Ubri hoisted Elfhild up to Ganbar's waiting arms. Ganbar slid his arms under the girl's prone body, grunting as he pulled her out and laid her on the ground. He then turned his attentions to helping a cursing Ubri out of the grave.</p><p>"Did she jump in, Captain, so that she might be buried with him?" Ganbar asked gruffly. "Women sometimes do strange things like that."</p><p>"Damn! I do not know! Perhaps she did. She might be mad, or maybe she collapsed from grief! Who can understand women?" Ubri growled as he brushed the dirt from his burnoose and pantaloons.</p><p>"Maybe she is diseased, sick with some fever, and does not know what she is doing," Ganbar suggested nervously. "She seems to be a sickly thing. What if she has some Northern pox that will kill us all?"</p><p>"Ganbar, maybe it is nothing more than the weakness of women, and she fainted from that and the heat. In that case, it is best to let her sister tend to her," Ubri admonished, his face puckering in disgust as though he had eaten something sour.</p><p>The two men stepped back as a frantic Elffled moved quickly to her sister's side. Wringing her hands and muttering fearfully, she knelt on the ground beside her. A slight trickle of blood oozed from Elfhild's right nostril. Wincing in sympathy, Elffled dabbed it away with her handkerchief. Murmuring Elfhild's name, Elffled gently shook her shoulder and whispered soft reassurances to her in Rohirric.</p><p>By that time, Inbir and the four uruks had heard the commotion and made their way to the site. The Southrons stood around the grave, murmuring at the strangeness of the occurrence and making signs to ward against evil.</p><p>Elfhild's eyelashes slowly fluttered open and she moaned at the rush of pain which assailed her bruised face. With a cry of joy, Elffled hugged her sister to her body. Her expression of happiness quickly turned to apprehension as she looked towards the other side of the clearing and saw a horseman.</p><p>Riding up at a trot, Esarhaddon reined his chestnut mare near the grave. Not liking the smell of orc in her nostrils, Ka'adara snorted and pawed the ground, the look in her rolling eyes causing the orcs to move away and give her a wide berth. Pointing his riding crop towards Ubri, the Shakh demanded briskly, "What in the hell happened here?"</p><p>"My lord," Ubri inclined his head and replied unemotionally, "apparently the girl fainted and fell in the grave. Ganbar and I retrieved her from the pit. She seems all right except for a bloodied nose."</p><p>"Aye, Shakh," Ganbar added, looking down at the girl and rubbing his nose, "just toppled over, she did. We all got here as quickly as we could."</p><p>"Strange." Esarhaddon shook his head from side to side. "Ubri, you and your men take the girl away from the grave and back into the trees. Her sister will go with you. We will remain here for a while and let her rest."</p><p>Turning towards the uruks, he ordered sternly, "Fill the grave now and raise a cairn over it! After you have finished, the four of you are to journey east and join the rest of my caravan. Report to the head physician all that has transpired here. Inform him that we will be joining him in a few days, but first we will go to the city."</p><p>"As you wish, Master," Zaanûrz bowed and signaled to the other uruks to join him.</p><p>The slaver did not guide the mare forward for some moments as he observed the uruks set to work again shoveling dirt into the grave. Idly drumming the end of his riding crop against his thigh, he watched as the three men carried Elfhild away and laid her on the mat that Ásal had spread upon the ground. He paid scant notice as the attentive servant boy propped her feet up upon a stack of blankets and put another under her head. When Ásal's black eyes caught his master's gaze, a flicker of resentment crossed his face, for the slaver signed for him to leave.</p><p>"He has already become far too attached to these slaves," Esarhaddon thought to himself. "A bad habit for a eunuch." His expression thoughtful, he turned the mare and trotted her over to the picket line, still thumping the crop against his leg. </p><p>A short while later, Esarhaddon, a small cloth bundle in one hand, his riding crop in the other, walked over to the sisters. The girls looked up to him questioningly.</p><p>"You," he pointed the whip towards Elffled as he held out the bundle, "here is food for you and your sister, dried dates, raisins and some dry biscuits. How long now has it been since you have eaten?"</p><p>"We ate this morning, my lord," Elffled replied gratefully as she smoothed out the cloth and inspected its contents. Her stomach had recovered from its earlier sickness, and now it was groaning for want of food. </p><p>His eyebrows furrowed, the slaver turned to Elfhild. "Why did you cast yourself into the grave with the dead man? Was it your wish to be buried with him?"</p><p>Elfhild looked up at the Southron in dismay. "No, no, of course not! I merely fainted and fell into the grave." </p><p>"I did not think that it was the custom in either your country or in Gondor for a man's women to be buried with him when he died. However," he tapped his bearded chin with his forefinger, "I have heard that in some countries that when a lord is buried, a poisoned cup is passed around to his wives and servants and they all die with him. Even his best horses are slaughtered with him. Then when he is buried, he is surrounded by his household and many of his finest possessions. An interesting custom, but one not practiced among my own people."</p><p>"How horrible!" Elfhild exclaimed. She was glad that this gruesome ritual was not practiced by Esarhaddon's kinsmen. In case by some strange chance the slave trader should perish along the journey, she did not want to join him in death!</p><p>"Then, too," he went on, ignoring her, "it is said that in some of the lands to the East when a great lord passes to the Unknown Realm, his body is burnt upon a great pile of wood. If his wives do not throw themselves into the pyre with him, they are considered dishonorable and have lost all hope of an eternity." He was obviously enjoying his dissertation, and a tremor of fear passed down Elfhild's spine. Could he be hinting that he would sell them to such people if they did not bend to his will? Shivering, she averted her gaze from the intimidating Southron.</p><p>"I only fainted, my lord," Elfhild stated, speaking slightly louder in an attempt to change the gruesome subject.</p><p>"Aye, my lord," Elffled spoke up. "Two days ago, my sister was overcome by the heat, and she is still a bit weak. Then she has been much aggrieved at the death of our friend, and the torments she endured at the hands of the orc."</p><p>His hard expression softening, a vague smile came over Esarhaddon's face as his eyelids drooped lazily and his whole body relaxed. "My gentle dove, do you think you are able to ride? There is no time to build a litter for you and your sister so that you might ride in comparative ease."</p><p>Elfhild narrowed her eyes at what she felt was an insult to her pride. "My lord, I was in the saddle but a few hours after I had suffered the sun sickness... when my sister and I set off with Tarlanc."</p><p>"When you were attempting to escape from me. Aye, I know," he chuckled, holding up a hand to stay them from speaking. "You thought highly of the old man, did you not?" he asked, already knowing the answer, but merely asking the question to gage the strength of her reply.</p><p>"Aye, my lord," she replied sadly, her long lashes lowering to cast dark shadows on her cheeks. "He was a kindly gentleman, his wish only to help us, and we brought him and his faithful companions evil fortune."</p><p>"Fate will be what it is," Esarhaddon shrugged. "You cannot change it, only accept what kismet decrees." Sliding closer to Elffled, he cupped his hand around her cheek and drew her face towards him until it was only a few inches from his. "And you, my little flower," he murmured softly, a trace of sarcasm in his tone, "do you accept the workings of fate?"</p><p>"I – I do not know, my lord," Elffled stammered, flinching at the Southron's touch. "Fate has certainly been cruel to my sister and me. I do not know if there is aught we can do to change this doom that hangs over us."</p><p>"Perhaps your fortunes are about to change." The fingers of his other hand traced the outline of her lips as his dark brown eyes stared into hers. Elffled blushed and looked shyly away. Abruptly Esarhaddon rose to his feet. "You will be ready to leave in an hour. Now eat! Our only stops will be to rest the horses, and you will not delay us!" He turned on his heel and walked to where the other men sat under the trees, laughing and drinking wine.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. A Motive for Mayhem</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>The old miller was dead and buried, his few pathetic possessions distributed among Esarhaddon's men, and now it was time to leave this wretched forest behind forever. Never giving a glance back at the cairns of Tarlanc and his animals, Esarhaddon mounted his mare Ka'adara and turned her towards the east. As he watched his men help the slave girls onto their horses, he could hear the twins crying softly, whimpering like puppies robbed of their mother. Perhaps he should have had them gagged, but he knew that nothing short of a beating would have quieted them, and he did not want to risk scarring their perfect skin. </p><p>Never would he have expected anyone to help those incorrigible twins in their escape attempt, but the old miller had dared try it, and had paid for his offense with his life. Surely the old man knew that the penalty for helping a slave to escape was death, and so he had no excuse. He probably had been beguiled by the sisters' beauty and gave up everything he had to help them escape. "Old fool," Esarhaddon thought scornfully to himself. "Should have left well enough alone!" The unfortunate incident of the miller soon slipped from the slave trader's mind, for he had far more important things with which to occupy his thoughts than with some old dotard whose meddling had almost deprived him of his property. </p><p>He should not give any thought at all to the miller, for the old man was but one of the many insignificant people who had briefly touched his life and then were forgotten forever. No, the old man was of no consequence. What rankled Esarhaddon was the unbelievable actions of the uruk Sharapul. There was no sense in what he had done, none whatsoever! Sharapul had always been one of Esarhaddon's best men, staunchly loyal, diligent in his services, and with a mind that seemed to be as strong as the granite rocks of the hills. True, the slaver conceded, the uruk had a fondness for his own gender, but Esarhaddon had found that uruks and orcs were often that way, and it did not affect their fighting, hunting and tracking abilities in the least.</p><p>"My lord, you look troubled," Ganbar remarked as he brought his horse in line behind Esarhaddon's mare. Ganbar had thought it unnecessary, but the chief slaver had insisted that the girls' hands be tied in front of them and their horses led. Esarhaddon and Ubri would ride at the head of the small column, while Ganbar and Inbir would ride behind with the slave girls. The care of the pack animals had been entrusted to the young eunuch Ásal. Ganbar did not know about any of the others, but he felt pity for the two young women, and the sound of their soft crying disturbed him.</p><p>"Puzzled is the word, Ganbar," Esarhaddon replied, touching his heels to his mare's flanks and urging her into a trot. "I have rolled the matter of Sharapul over and over in my mind, and I still cannot believe that a good, loyal uruk such as he turned brigand and went on a senseless rampage of murder and carnage."</p><p>"I cannot make any sense of it either, my lord," Ganbar replied, shivering at the memory of Sharapul's ghastly lopped off head lying in the dirt. "No one is even certain how Sharapul's catamite met his doom. The slave girl Elfhild was there, but she says that she had fainted, and when she awoke, Âmbalfîm was dead. The other girl is no help either, for she had ran away and witnessed nothing of what happened."</p><p>Inbir spoke up, a scowl darkening his handsome face. "My lord, it seems plain to me that the two uruks planned to make away with the women and then fell into an argument over who would have them first. Or, perhaps, Sharapul wanted the women for himself, but his catamite became jealous and protested. We all know that Sharapul had a boiling hot temper, and in his rage he killed Âmbalfîm." Inbir paused, trying to choose the right words. "He blamed his lover's death upon the girl, and sought to extract his revenge upon her."</p><p>"I do not think that Sharapul meant to do the deed," Ganbar spoke up. "His grief and guilt at murdering his lover were too much a burden for him, and that drove him mad." Ganbar shook his head. "It is a pity to have lost both of them, for they had always served you well, my lord."</p><p>"Grief?" Esarhaddon snorted in derision. "The brutes are incapable of sorrow!"</p><p>"Then I do not know, my lord." Ganbar pursed his lips. He well knew his employer's low opinion of uruks, and he would not argue with him. Ganbar had known many uruks, and indeed most were savage, brutal creatures. But yet he had seen some display kindness on rare occasions. He felt pity for poor Âmbalfîm, for the half-breed had always seemed more like his elvish ancestors, given to a gentler nature. </p><p>"Gentlemen, I am inclined to believe Inbir's explanation for why Sharapul killed his lover and then attacked the girl," Esarhaddon remarked. "She, too, came to the same conclusion - that the two lovers came to blows, and in the ensuing fight, Sharapul slew Âmbalfîm by accident."</p><p>"It is mystifying enough to try to comprehend the hearts and souls of men, my lord, but well nigh impossible to understand that of a uruk," Ganbar offered.</p><p>"This is indeed true, Ganbar," Esarhaddon conceded, his mind still burdened by Sharapul's treachery and the fight in the clearing. He wondered if he could trust any of the uruks in his employ, or if at any moment they might strike him down in cold blood.</p><p>"What does it matter, my lord?" asked Ubri with a shrug. "You slew the beast, and now his fly-speckled head rests atop a pole, a fitting ending to the scoundrel."</p><p>"I will never put such confidence in another of his breed, lieutenant," the slave trader admitted. "No matter how good their breeding and how well they are trained, uruks will always have that untamed wildness of their kind about them. Their blood is tainted!" A shadow crossed the slaver's face, and he scowled, his eyes narrowing. "I do not like to employ them, but I am forced to it. They are the best trackers that can be found, and I use them like hunting dogs when necessary, for they can always find their quarry."</p><p>"My lord," interjected Ubri, "if our map is correct, we are very near the main thoroughfare."</p><p>"Then lead on, Ubri, for all of us are eager to be done with this trackless wilderness." With an exclamation of almost boyish exuberance, Esarhaddon touched his heels to Ka'adara's sides, urging her to keep up with his lieutenant. They rode to the top of a small knoll, and there, down below them, lay the Great West Road. </p><p>"At last!" Ganbar exclaimed, a low sigh escaping his lips. He touched his golden earring almost reverently and thanked all the Gods that this misadventure would soon be at an end. </p><p>After four days of chasing the Rohirric twins across Gondor, the men were in a jubilant mood. For a time, it had appeared that the girls' trail was lost completely, and even Esarhaddon, whose zeal for life always ran high, had been close to giving up the quest. But they had persevered, and their efforts had finally been rewarded when they ran the quarry to the ground.</p><p>"Does this road look familiar to you, slave girls?" Ubri called back over his shoulder. "It should, because you came down this way on your journey from Rohan."</p><p>"Yes," answered Elfhild. "I remember that burnt out village over there just a little way off the road. All that is left now are ghosts and ashes." She shivered and turned her eyes away from the depressing ruin.</p><p>"That village would still be standing today had not the people of Gondor refused to surrender to Mordor." Ubri was not about to let an opportunity pass to teach these barbarian girls the righteousness of Mordor's cause. "What a pity that the people had to be so hardheaded and filled with pride! Now everything for which they strove lies in ruins. How the Great One in the Tower must have grieved when He heard the news of the burning, for He never wishes to cause suffering. Blame all this woe upon the Stewart of Gondor and his counselors, whose stubbornness caused this war in the first place!"</p><p>Ubri was ready to launch into a lecture about the awesome might of Mordor when the small party met a cavalry patrol approaching from the south. With the war still raging in the north, it was common to see heavily guarded supply wagons, detachments of foot soldiers, and cavalry patrols, all headed towards Rohan. None would ever challenge Esarhaddon, and if they did, he had the papers to prove that he was aligned with Mordor. The black-clad cavalry troopers were part of an elite detachment of Khandian cavalry bound for the war in Rohan. When the officer in charge recognized Esarhaddon, he hailed him as a friend. The two men exchanged pleasantries for a while, and then, wishing the Southern merchant a safe journey, the officer saluted him and led his men north. </p><p>Elfhild and Elffled were learning more about their master, but there were still many things that puzzled them. They wondered how this man, whom they had thought to be but a simple merchant, was so well-favored with the enemy. He had surely not won this prestige by military prowess, for he denied ever having served as a soldier. Then, if not a military man, perhaps he was some high-ranking agent of the Dark One? All they knew about him was his profession, a disreputable slave trader, dealing in human flesh. Since he seemed to be so powerful, Elfhild wondered what he had done, what confidences he had betrayed, what lies he had told, what bribes he had offered, what fell deeds he had committed, and what price of soul and spirit he had paid to attain his position with the loathsome foe. "Everything about him is contemptible," she cursed to herself. Yet she could not help but wonder what he would be like if he were an honorable man. </p><p>Although he had reclaimed the two escaped slaves, Esarhaddon's mood had quickly turned foul. There was no way that he could balance his satisfaction with finding them against his irritation at the time that had been lost in the search. Just the time that had been spent burying the old miller and his animals had set them back, and lost time represented wasted gold. They must move faster! Muttering a dark oath to himself, he halted the small cavalcade and turned to Ubri, his first lieutenant. "Ubri, we are moving no faster than diseased snails! We must make better time than this, or we will not reach Amon Dîn by dark!"</p><p>"My lord, if you wish to push the pace, we can, but I was not certain if the slaves would be able to keep up." Ubri jerked his head over his shoulder, giving the twins a doubtful glance. "If we urge the horses past a trot, these girls might fall off."</p><p>"I doubt that, lieutenant," Esarhaddon laughed, the first real laugh he had that day. "Do not forget that they were born in Rohan, and it is said that their children suckle mare's tits when their mothers will no longer nurse them, and learn to ride before they can walk."</p><p>"As you wish, my lord," Ubri replied, "and if they do fall off, we can always tie them to the saddle." With that, he signaled for the small column to move forward, and soon the men had their horses cantering. Although the twins' hands were bound in front of them, they rode their horses with grace, amazing the men with their abilities.</p><p>That night, the slavers made camp east of Amon Dîn in a sheltered grove of alders and willows. The servant boy Ásal prepared supper, serving the men first, and the twin sisters last. The meal was a sparse one - dried fruit, meat, and hard bread - for they were running low on provisions. The men had wine to wash down their food, but Elfhild and Elffled had to be satisfied with water. After the meal, Ásal spread the twins' sleeping mats and blankets and then left them to their sleep. Throughout the meal, the boy had been moody and sullen as he sat hunched by the fire, and the girls wondered at his change in behavior. They soon found themselves too sleepy to ponder the matter for long, though. Certainly it was exhaustion brought on by the rigors of the trail that drove them early to their sleeping mats. Weariness and grief were the explanation for the almost euphoric oblivion which descended upon them soon after they laid their heads upon the folded blankets which served as pillows. They did not awaken until the boy shook them the next morning before dawn.</p><p>Breakfast was a quick and simple affair, for the slavers were impatient to reach the city by nightfall. The journey would be a comparatively easy one over a good road and in fair weather, and barring any accidents, the entourage would make five leagues between dawn and noontime and another three more before they stopped for the evening in Minas Tirith. There they would obtain a fresh supply of foodstuffs and exchange their worn out horses for fresh ones. Before daybreak, Esarhaddon had dispatched Inbir to ride to Minas Tirith with a message for Awidan, the slaver's chief agent in the city. Awidan was to see that Esarhaddon's great tent was set up and waiting for him when he arrived.</p><p>When the time came to ride out, Ásal took the twins to where the men were waiting with the horses. "Tie their hands in front of them, Ásal," Ubri ordered, his expression smug. "Such rebellious slaves as these deserve no consideration." Resigned, the sisters put up no fight as the boy bound their hands. Resistance under these circumstances would only bring them grief. Besides, where could they go in this wilderness should they manage to break free from the men? This was what life had become for them during the past month - plod mindlessly like dumb beasts through a country devastated by war; then eat, sleep, and repeat the same routine the next day. Over and over the monotony continued, part of some rhythm ordained by powers beyond their comprehension. At least now they would ride instead of tramp endless miles on sore and aching feet, Elfhild thought dryly.</p><p>"Even though you have not asked, still I will give you a piece of good advice, slave girls," Ubri remarked when Ásal had finished tying the cords around Elfhild's wrists. "If you make yourselves more agreeable to the noble shakh and vow never to attempt another escape, he might be more kindly disposed towards you." One corner of his mouth twitched into a half-smile. "I am uncertain whether the two of you are capable of taking advice when you receive it. As the sage has said, 'Fools spurn good advice, but the wise give heed to sound counsel.'"</p><p>Elfhild raised haughty eyes to his. "Captain Ubri, we will consider the matter," she replied coolly. In truth, she did not want to talk to Esarhaddon uHuzziya about anything. He would probably only laugh cruelly at her if she did beg him for mercy.</p><p>"He who scorns wise reasoning is like a foolish beggar who sits in the marketplace and, when offered a coin by a generous benefactor, refuses it upon the grounds that he does not like the giver. Consequently, his would-be benefactor will go on his way, his purse untouched, while the beggar's stomach will gnaw with hunger that night." Ganbar, his arms folded across his chest, looked pityingly at Elfhild.</p><p>"Hard-headed Rohirric wenches! As with all women, there is but little reasoning ability in them!" Ubri muttered in Haradric as he turned to Ganbar. "But no matter now, Ganbar; we know that they must submit eventually. Now it is time for us to be leaving this ill-omened place. Here comes the slave boy with the horses."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Justice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>Leaving behind the forests which lay around Amon Dîn, the small party of horsemen continued southward on the Great West Road. All about them were the scars of war and destruction - barren fields, abandoned farmsteads and burnt out villages. Most of the people of Anórien had either been killed or fled from the onslaught of Mordor, and those who remained did so at their own peril. The brave few who chose to stay were forced to acknowledge the invaders as overlords, or live as outlaws in their own country. The Sun, for which the fiefdom had been named, had turned sullen that day, hiding her face behind veils of steel gray clouds. The twins looked up at the skies and feared the gloom-cursed cloud of Mordor might be returning to darken the land once more.</p><p>They had seen little traffic on the highway that day, and only once had it been necessary for the horsemen to pull aside, and that had been to allow a long supply train to pass by on its way northward. The drivers were a motley lot, sullen-faced Southrons and half-breed orcs for the most part. Many of them had seen hard service in the war, and had been left too impaired for further fighting. Mordor always had a use for every thrall, though, and no matter how maimed one might be, if he still had some eyesight and the use of a leg and an arm, there was work for him to do.</p><p>Cavalry patrolled the road in both directions, ever vigilant for stragglers, escaped slaves, and rebels who defied the might of Mordor. Occasionally these patrols would be attacked and slaughtered by bands of Gondorian insurgents. There was no concern that there would be any major engagements, though, for the only fight left in the conquered peoples was to the north or in the deep south. While the twins were still afraid of any enemy they saw, no patrol ever challenged Esarhaddon, but instead hailed him as an ally.</p><p>By midday, the party had come to the Grey Wood, a small expanse of dense forest to the west of the road. They halted for a short time near a small stream shaded by willows, stopping only to eat and care for the horses. After the short respite, they were back in the saddle and once again on the road to the south. The canopy of the heavens had dulled to an even more somber shade of gray, the heat building up under the clouds with no promise of rain. Sweat soaked everyone's clothing, and no matter how many times the men reached for their water flasks, their thirst never seemed to be abated. The horses, too, were soaked in sweat, foamy lather streaking their necks and sides, but they were a tough breed, strong and accustomed to the heat of the Southern deserts, and they could endure.</p><p>Though the others suffered from the oppressive heat and lack of cooling breezes, Elfhild was affected the worst of all. She felt dizzy and nauseated, and black spots danced before her eyes. Threatened with the embarrassing prospect of being tied to the saddle if she could not ride her horse, she was afraid to ask the men to stop. Her hair was damp and lank, and the sweat that rolled down from her forehead stung her eyes, almost blinding her. How long would it be before the slave trader called another halt to rest the horses? If she could only endure the malevolent heat a little longer, perhaps the short rest and some water would be enough to relieve her malaise. She knew what ailed her; she still suffered the effects of the heat sickness, and her illness was made even worse by her grief for the old miller.</p><p>A quick glance at her sister told Elfhild that her twin was worried. She wondered to herself if she looked as miserable as she felt, but then the horse jumped over some obstacle on the road and soared high. She thought how strange it was that the animal did not collide into the horses ahead of it, nor did its hooves touch the road. There was no longer any road anyway, and all the trees had disappeared. "Elffled," she murmured weakly, and then she was spiraling, her mind and body twisting and turning into some dark vortex...</p><p>When Elfhild awoke again, she was terribly ill with her stomach knotting up as though a hand were deep inside, clenching and squeezing. She retched violently, but her sister, ever faithful Elffled, was prepared, and caught the sickening mess in a glazed earthenware bowl that Ganbar used when he milked his mare. Elfhild gagged and vomited again, over and over it seemed until only a froth bubbled from her mouth. Her sister and Ganbar supported her body while she retched, wiping the filth from her mouth and swathing her forehead with cool cloths.</p><p>"What ails the girl, Ganbar?" asked Esarhaddon, his horse a shadowy darkness that blotted out the muted light of the sun.</p><p>"My lord, her sister says that she was beset by the sun sickness a few days ago, and now it has come upon her again," Ganbar replied, wiping Elfhild's face before turning to look at Esarhaddon. "I would be quite surprised if she were ready to ride by the time you wish."</p><p>"The girl is an endless source of trouble," Esarhaddon growled. "I sometimes think she is hardly worth the effort."</p><p>"My lord Esarhaddon," Ásal's tongue stumbled hesitantly over his master's name, "if it is permitted for me to ask, what will you do with her? Abandon her upon the trail and let the beasts feed upon her?" His eyes flicked nervously from Esarhaddon to the girl.</p><p>"Have you no common sense, you foolish boy?" Esarhaddon bellowed as he scowled at the young eunuch. "I have too much invested in the Rohirric girl for that! Now be silent, lest I have you whipped for being a fool." He gave a quick glance at Elfhild and then turned to Ubri. "Take Ásal and go cut saplings to make a litter to transport the girl."</p><p>"My lord, I can ride," Elfhild's weak, shaky voice could barely be heard. She straightened her body and put a trembling hand to her forehead. "But it would be a great boon if you would allow me to do so with my hands free to hold the reins."</p><p>"Why not?" Esarhaddon shrugged. "If you should try to run away, I will have Ubri kill your sister."</p><p>"Surely you would not do such a thing!" Elfhild sputtered, her eyes wide with fear. "You went to such lengths to recapture us!"</p><p>"You will never know unless you try me, will you, slave girl?" The slaver looked down at her, his heavy-lidded eyes unreadable. With a laugh, he dismounted his horse. "I will give you another hour, girl, and if you are not able to sit your horse, I will have you carried by litter." Esarhaddon looked to Ásal, who stood with his head bowed, his hands folded across his middle. "Now, Ásal, you lazy lout, your relief at not having to cut saplings will come to naught, for you are to make us some tea." Esarhaddon turned and walked away with Ubri and Ásal following, while Ganbar lingered behind like a faithful hound.</p><p>"Do you really think he would kill me if you tried to escape?" Elffled trembled as she cast a timid glance in Esarhaddon's direction.</p><p>"I do not know," Elfhild replied quietly. "Only yesterday, he threatened to kill us both. I have no idea what the man is capable of doing!"</p><p>"Pay heed to the shakh's words, daughters of the North," a grim-faced Ganbar told them. "He will brook no disobedience from his servants. That is just a little piece of friendly advice from one who has seen much." Reaching down, he touched Elfhild's shoulder. "Please be good! I would hate to see your lovely sister slain. Besides, blood makes me sick to my stomach."</p><p>***</p><p>After Elfhild had recovered enough to ride, the Southrons set off again, their destination Minas Tirith. They paid the girls little heed, although Ganbar looked back at Elfhild every now and then to see how she was faring. Even the servant boy Ásal, who had been so solicitous of them the day before, was ignoring them. He seemed sullen and unhappy; his mouth did not smile, and no longer did his tongue wag with endless flattery. The twins wondered at this sudden change in personality, but since they had only met the boy yesterday, they assumed he was merely given to moods and whims.</p><p>As they approached the once-green fields of the Pelennor, the mood of the Southrons turned as gray as the ashen sky. Although the battle had been a victory for Mordor, the Haradrim and Easterlings had suffered great losses. Each one of the Southrons had known someone who had fought upon the Pelennor Fields, be it acquaintance, trusted friend, or kinsman. Although each man hoped and prayed that his fellows were still alive and well, it was illogical to think that everyone had survived. The Southrons knew that once they arrived in Nurn, their joy at having returned at last would be tempered by sorrowful tidings from the front. Here in the wilderness, though, they were isolated from the war which raged in the north, for news always traveled slowly.</p><p>In the distance lay the ruins of the Rammas Echor, the wall which surrounded the once green farmlands around the White City. During the battle in the spring, the forces of Mordor had breached the wall, razing it to the earth in several places. Now ruined stone littered the ground, causing the great wall, which had once been patrolled by sentries, to resemble some ancient ruin which time had long forgotten. The landscape of Middle-earth was dotted with such ruins, crumbling reminders of ancient kingdoms and civilizations which now existed only in dusty pages of lore.</p><p>As the riders approached the northern gate to the Pelennor, they reined in their horses and stared at the ghastly sight before them. The gate had been battered down during the bloody battle in March, leaving nothing but a gaping hole in the wall. Sometime during the past few days, though, the aperture had been framed around by an archway of rude beams taken from broken siege engines and catapults. Skulls had been hung along the sides of the ghastly arch, their sightless eyes peering out at all who came and went upon the road. Across the lintel, written in crude Westron, were the words "Death to the Enemies of Mordor." Banners bearing the Great Eye were hung over the walls, emblems of the power of Mordor. The work was obviously done by orcish artisans with a grim sense of humor and no sense of honor whatsoever, for who would know whose skull had belonged to a man of the West, and which had belonged to a warrior of Mordor?</p><p>The men gazed at the monstrosity before them, one thought shared by them all. As crude and banal as the creatures of Mordor were, how could their minds devise such an abhorrent mockery of those who had bravely given their lives on the battlefield?</p><p>"Is this some crude jest?" Esarhaddon loudly demanded. "Such an evil thing is an insult to our countrymen who perished while fighting the enemy!"</p><p>"The uruks' minds ever turn to corruption!" Ubri growled, his eyes blazing with fury. "I detest them all, every last one! Fiendish bastards! When this war is over, the Great One should destroy them all!"</p><p>"He will never do it." Ganbar shook his head knowingly. "He needs them too much, and what is it to Him if thousands of Haradrim and Khandians are slaughtered while in His service?"</p><p>"The Khandians!" Esarhaddon laughed grimly. "No good has ever come from that people."</p><p>"Well, there are your physician, Tushratta, and his assistant. They are both good men, my lord," Ganbar reminded him, knowing full well that Esarhaddon would slough off his words, "and skilled in the medical arts of Bablon."</p><p>"There are a few exceptions," Esarhaddon admitted grudgingly. "But not many. Now why do we waste time sitting here staring at this grotesque creation? Let us be on our way to the city!"</p><p>As the riders passed beneath the grim structure, Elfhild and Elffled shuddered with dread at this ghoulish tribute to the bloody hand of war. After their escape a few nights ago, the sisters had hoped that they would never again see the grim fields of the Pelennor. How wrong they had been! Here, in the northern part of the Pelennor, there had been fewer casualties, but still the war had taken its toll upon the land. All around them were the charred frames of farmhouses and outbuildings which had been put to the torch as the Mordorian invaders had pressed southward. Here and there lay the skeletal remains of men who had died in defense of the walls, or in the desperate flight back to the city.</p><p>Elfhild and Elffled stared helplessly as the scenery passed by. It was as though they were trapped in some nightmare in which they could only watch events unfolding about themselves rather than having any part in them. The distance seemed to pass all too quickly, and then they were in the very midst of the battlefield. Great trenches scored the blackened ground, as though the very earth had been clawed by some gigantic beast. Broken siege equipment lay abandoned upon the field like the forgotten toys of giants. The stench of death still lingered here, the corruption oozing deep into the ground. Vainly the girls tried to block out the reek by pulling the necks of their tunics around their noses. Skeletons of the slain mûmakil rose up like pallid monuments to death, and smaller skeletons of horses, men, and orcs lay in scattered heaps across the field, most of the bones picked clean by the vultures and ravens. Nothing had changed in only a week, but somehow the battlefield seemed even more horrifying than before.</p><p>As the road drew closer to Minas Tirith, it widened into a broad avenue which was flanked on either side by a series of tall poles. Crowning the poles were skulls, many of which bore battered and dented Rohirric helms. Tied beneath the skulls were hair-braided strings of knuckle bones which jangled unpleasantly together at the slightest breeze. It was an orcish tribute to the Riders of Rohan, a grim testament that any who defied the Dark Lord - even the staunchest, bravest defender - would inevitably fall to the might of Mordor.</p><p>As her horse's hooves plodded dully upon the pavement, Elfhild looked up into the dark, empty eye sockets of each staring skull. Tears welled up in her eyes when she came to the skull which belonged to her father. However, she received no visions from those dark, empty eye sockets this day, and the skull gazed at her sightlessly as she rode by. She was uncertain whether she was more sad or relieved at the silence. </p><p>The twins were relieved when the party reached Minas Tirith, for the sight of the conquered city distracted them from thoughts of their father and brother's demise on the fields of Pelennor. They remembered the vast tent city which had been constructed before the broken walls. They passed by the pens for slaves, the buildings for officials, the workshops for tradesmen, the huts for the workers and stables for horses. Many of the tents and pavilions were lavish, the material woven of bright colors, all bearing the emblem of their countries atop staffs raised high above the tents. Other tents were woven of black goat hair, their sides open to catch the breeze. Raised above these were colorful pennants, their sigils signifying nomadic clans and tribes of Harad. In contrast to the tents of the Southrons were the barracks of the orcs, which were some distance away from the encampment. A lively breeze had sprung up and ruffled the standards atop the tents, and both sisters thought they could catch the vile scent of orc on the wind.</p><p>Sleek greyhounds and whippets, aided by a few nondescript curs, ventured forward to bark and snap at the riders before a word from their masters sent them back whining into the shade along the sides of the tents. Soon the riders came to two of the largest pavilions on the field and halted their lathered and blowing horses in front of the lesser of the two pavilions. They were welcomed by a small, delicately built, tawny-skinned man, graying of beard and mustache, who clutched a tasseled shawl about his shoulders as though he were cold. Inbir stood beside him, his head bowed, a smile lighting up his handsome young face at the sight of the safe arrival of his master and his senior lieutenants.</p><p>Bowing from the waist, the older man touched his fingertips to his heart, his lips and then to his forehead. "Peace be upon you, greatly esteemed of the Southern merchants, illustrious Shakh Esarhaddon uHuzziya! I pray you will honor me by taking some refreshment in my tent!"</p><p>"Greetings, Shakh Awidan lûk-Nysmr. May peace be upon you and your house," Esarhaddon replied, returning the greeting. "I am pleased that you have set up my pavilion as I had ordered you to do." Swinging down from his saddle, he handed his reins to a waiting servant and signed to his lieutenants to assist the twins in dismounting. A word from Ubri sent Ásal leading his pack horses to the nearby stables.</p><p>"All has been done as you requested, my lord," Awidan replied. "I am sure that you will be pleased." The two men embraced and kissed each other on both cheeks. "How my heart sings with joy that you have returned safely!" Awidan gave his employer the most sincere smile that he could muster. He could care less whether his master had returned or not; in fact, the evil thought had crossed his mind that he would rejoice if Esarhaddon had perished upon the trip. "My servants will show your men to their tents and take your women to your own pavilion. All your horses will be cared for while you are my honored guests. Now if you will join me in my tent..."</p><p>"Awidan, all will be done in time." Esarhaddon held up his hand. "I will see to my own pleasure after I have taken care of certain necessary business. There is the matter of these two slave women which must be addressed. After they escaped, they were taken in by a meddling old fool who filed off their collars. This, of course, cannot be tolerated, for it breaks the rules of the contract with the Tower. They need new collars, and then there are the formal papers which must be filled out." Since Esarhaddon's arrival, the two men had conversed in a Southern dialect, but as the slaver looked at Elfhild and Elffled, it appeared that he had reached some decision. "Speak in Westron, Awidan, since this is a matter that concerns my women."</p><p>"As you will, my lord." Awidan smiled at his employer, his dark eyes furtively shifting to the twins. "A collar is only a small thing, quickly replaced. The clerk will have the necessary papers filled out before the blacksmith locks the new collars about their lovely necks. All will be done as prescribed by the laws of the land." He folded his hands, clasping his fingers together.</p><p>The blacksmith! A shock of panic shot through Elffled; this vile man and his guards had pawed all over her sister and her the last time they had been taken to Minas Tirith. Whimpering softly, Elffled clung to her sister. "Please do not let them take us to those horrible men!" she whispered, close to tears.</p><p>"Lord Esarhaddon," Elfhild spoke up bravely, "this blacksmith, if he is the same one who gave us our first collars, terrifies my sister so much that I fear she will faint if she is forced to see him again!" She glanced over her shoulder at Elffled, who was cowering behind her.</p><p>Esarhaddon was clearly amused as he turned his dark eyes towards her. "What! Are my gentle doves afraid of the hard-working blacksmith? I can assure you that he performs his labor industriously and well." Stroking his beard, his eyes met those of Awidan, who smiled uncomfortably and let his hands drop to his sides. "...Unless there is something about him that I do not know, Awidan?"</p><p>"My lord Esarhaddon, while the man is somewhat loutish - he is from Umbar originally, a descendant of the men of Númenor, I believe - he has always accomplished every task which he has been set. He is almost never ill and has not missed a day at his forge in five years." Awidan glanced down at the tassels on the hem of his shawl and found that he was fingering them unconsciously, a nervous habit of his.</p><p>Without looking back at Elfhild, the master slaver asked her, "Tell me why your sister fears him. Do not be afraid, my little dove. No one will hurt you for telling the truth. What did he do to her? Speak plainly." His three lieutenants exchanged knowing glances with each other. With a feeling of growing irritation, Awidan discovered that the tassels had become tangled, and though he kept his eyes on Esarhaddon, his fingers worked frantically to untangle the strands.</p><p>"The blacksmith and his assistant were very cruel to both of us," Elfhild proclaimed defensively. "They called in five of the guards, and all seven men took turns tormenting us." Her face turned red with embarrassment, and she looked down, her voice starting to waver. "They - they kissed us, and pawed all over our bodies with their filthy hands! My sister suffered the most, for one of the guards lifted up her skirt and - and - touched her improperly." At these words, Elffled burst out into wailing sobs, and Elfhild clutched her tightly. "Oh, my lord, please believe us!" Elfhild begged piteously. "We are telling the truth!"</p><p>Esarhaddon's eyelids had drooped lower. Though he appeared almost to be sleeping, the finger circling around the hilt of his scimitar moved back and forth, much like the switching of a leopard's tail before he springs upon his prey. Awidan's eyes followed the motion, almost hypnotized. "Awidan," Esarhaddon sighed, "can you not keep your people under control?"</p><p>"My lord," Awidan coughed and clutched his heart, "I am old man, and this wretched, damp climate is injurious to my health--"</p><p>"This has nothing to do with your health, Awidan," Esarhaddon bluntly cut him off. "This is a matter which pertains entirely to business. If dolts like the blacksmith and those damn fool guards that you keep in your employ damage the merchandise and make it unsalable, I have lost money, and if anything makes me unhappy, it is failing to turn a profit upon a venture."</p><p>"Shakh," Awidan's voice was a plaintive bleat as he rapidly fanned his face with his hand, "these wenches could be telling us lies, tales which they have concocted! Lest there be any misunderstanding of the way I conduct business here, I will have the physician examine both of these girls. Should their value have been lessened in any way, I will go directly to the authorities and purchase them myself. Your family's business establishment will lose nothing, either in profit or reputation!"</p><p>Esarhaddon's hand slid from his scimitar and dropped to his side as he moved closer to the older man. Swiftly reaching out his right hand, he clamped Awidan's shoulder in a grip of iron while his other hand clenched the man's right forearm. Esarhaddon's voice dropped to a low undertone as his eyes bore into his subordinate's. "While your most thoughtful offer is appreciated, I am inclined to think that no harm has been done... this time. However, it is obvious that the smith and his cronies are a fell lot and deserve punishment. Do you not remember that old adage, my friend? 'The reputation of a man's business is determined by the integrity of the man and his employees.' Then the other adage, which is so fondly elucidated by our venerable wise men, 'The rogue and scoundrel laugh at the weak man but fear the strong and harsh?' Or that other saying so commonly heard, 'The whip will drive wisdom into the soul of a fool?'"</p><p>In spite of the chill which he perpetually felt in this damp, foreign climate, Awidan had begun to perspire heavily. As Esarhaddon held his shoulder in a forceful grip, the little man winced, a small, gasping moan escaping his mouth. "The bastinado, Awidan. My lieutenants will administer the sentence. Aye, the bastinado... One hundred strokes for the blacksmith, fifty on each foot, and the punishment must be laid on hard and heavy! For those guards who are guilty of touching that which is not theirs, they, too, are to be scourged with the bastinado, twenty-five for each foot. I am being merciful, Awidan. You know that I am! Kind and compassionate! It would be within my rights to have them all castrated or killed!</p><p>Esarhaddon's heavy-lidded eyes were mere slits, his face so close to the other man's that his heavy breathing hit him with fragrant puffs of mint. "Now the man who fondled the wench beneath her skirts... the bastard must forfeit his left hand as punishment for trying to steal what is rightfully mine. You understand, Awidan?" Esarhaddon smiled, backing away slightly and releasing the harsh, painful hold on the man's arms.</p><p>His whole body shaking, Awidan gulped, his throat bobbing convulsively as he stared panic-stricken into the eyes of the slaver. "A-aye, my lord, I understand, and I concur with your judgment. After these scoundrels have recovered from their injuries, I will dismiss them." As he silently prayed to his gods for protection, the underling's hand clutched desperately at the amulets beneath his robes.</p><p>Awidan did not like to think what might happen should Esarhaddon ever discover that long ago he and the blacksmith had struck a bargain. Awidan would turn a blind eye to the blacksmith's lewd attentions towards captured slave women in exchange for gratuities. The gifts themselves were never large, for the blacksmith was a man of modest means. However, the contribution of a small amount of his pay or the gift of some overlooked memento from the sacked city was enough to buy his silence. Though bribery was a punishable offense, it was a common practice and most thought nothing of it. "But not Esarhaddon uHuzziya!" he fumed to himself. "The vain bastard thinks he is too good to accept a bribe!"</p><p>"Now, my old friend," Esarhaddon put his arm around the trembling shoulders and began to guide the older man into the tent, "you have given many years of honorable service to my family. Perhaps it is time now for you to think about those golden days of retirement. Your wife and family in Harad have not seen you in a long time and will be overjoyed at your return."</p><p>"Worthy Shakh, while your concern is appreciated, I feel that I still have a number of years left to devote to your service. For the sake of my health, however, perhaps a little holiday might be in order... that is, of course, if you would approve," Awidan mumbled tremulously, his right thumb and forefinger compulsively winding around the tassels of his shawl.</p><p>"That might be advisable," Esarhaddon agreed amiably. "A holiday could be just the thing for your health. Now let us settle ourselves comfortably within the shaded confines of your tent. We will discuss the matter while my men and I enjoy those refreshments which you have so generously offered."</p><p>"You know that everything I have is yours, shakh," Awidan exclaimed nervously as he inclined his head and kissed the sleeve of Esarhaddon's tunic. Looking down at his richly slippered feet, the fearful little man was grateful that they would not be the ones to face the bastinado's bite.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. History Repeats Itself</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>"What is a 'bastinado?'" Elfhild asked as she and her sister hurried along behind Inbir down the long line of tents and sheds in the encampment of the slave traders. After the dispute between Esarhaddon and Awidan had been peacefully concluded, the slaver assigned Inbir the task of escorting the twins to the blacksmith for their new collars.</p><p>"It is a type of punishment in which the offender is beaten upon the soles of the feet with a cane," Inbir explained. "The blacksmith is to receive fifty strokes on each foot for his offenses against the House of Huzziya, and the guards are to receive twenty-five strokes. Lord Esarhaddon does not take lightly to his employees committing breaches in protocol."</p><p>"Oh, how horrible!" Elfhild's face paled as she learnt of the existence of such a brutal punishment. What if the slave trader decided to punish her in such a cruel way for some infraction? She shuddered at the thought.</p><p>"They deserve it," Elffled muttered darkly in a voice only her sister could hear. "At least the man who touched me will never be able to touch another woman again with that hand." It was unfortunate that Esarhaddon uHuzziya had not been around when Sergeant Daungha had subjected her to his foul attentions. That horrible man certainly deserved his feet whipped and his hands cut off!</p><p>"It is the way of things," Inbir shrugged. "Lord Esarhaddon demands that his employees uphold a high standard of decorum and obey all of the rules which he sets in place." He stopped and turned to give the twins a stern look. "Do not speak of this matter to the blacksmith or any of his men! How Lord Esarhaddon runs his business does not concern slaves such as yourselves. Now here we are, at the tent of the scribes. We must stop here first."</p><p>Inbir led the twins into the green pavilion where a multitude of clerks and scribes were hard at work recording the extensive paperwork required by both the House of Huzziya and the Lord of Mordor. Not that the Great Eye would ever read these records, but Sauron craved order in all things, and an extensive bookkeeping system ensured that all business conducted in Mordor was performed in an orderly fashion. Garavegion, one of Esarhaddon's scribes in Minas Tirith, listened as Inbir gave an account of the girls' ill-fated escape; the name of Tarlanc, the old miller who had aided them; a report of the ambush and what had transpired; and finally an account of their recapture.</p><p>"My, for slaves, you certainly have had a lot of adventures!" Garavegion looked at the twins with a mixture of astonishment and admiration.</p><p>"Aye, they led us a wild chase, but we caught them and brought them back safe and sound. They were fools ever to try escaping," Inbir replied. "Now, Garavegion, have you finished with these two? I need to take them to the blacksmith so that new collars can be fitted to their necks."</p><p>"Quite finished, my friend Inbir." Garavegion nodded to an assistant scribe who had just blotted the newly finished document with sand. The expressionless scribe neatly rolled the scroll and put it in a scroll tube.</p><p>"Perhaps I will see you again if the Shakh assigns me to another one of his northern-bound slave caravans." Inbir extended his hand to Garavegion, who had risen to his feet.</p><p>"Oh, you had not heard?" Garavegion sounded surprised. "My uncle has offered me a position with his accounting firm in Turkûrzgoi, and I have accepted."</p><p>"Congratulations are in order, my friend," Inbir replied. "I look forward to seeing you there."</p><p>"Thank you, Inbir." A look of doubt crossed over the young man's features. "Although it is a chance for advancement, I considered refusing. I find the land on this side of the river quite beautiful, much more to my liking than Turkûrzgoi, which can be very hot and dry. I really could not turn the old fellow down, though. His son perished in the war, and the old man is devastated. Very sad." Garavegion shook his head. "He has quite a prosperous business, but neither of his daughters, my cousins, has shown any interest in the business. I suppose it is up to me." He laughed nervously.</p><p>"I am sure you will do well, my friend." Inbir clapped the other man across the shoulder. "You always were good with numbers. Not me, though. I only pretend to be good at music." He laughed good-naturedly. "Doubtful that I could ever earn my bread and meat by playing the oud." He glanced at the twins, who had been silent throughout the whole conversation. "Now I have to get these two lovelies off to the blacksmith. The old man who tried to help them escape filed off their collars."</p><p>The blacksmith's shop was housed in a filthy, dingy shed which was illuminated by a lantern and the faintly glowing embers in the forge. "Master Inbir, good to see you once again!" the blacksmith called out as he wiped his grime-covered hands off on his apron. "What business brings you here on this fine day?"</p><p>"New collars for these two escapees," Inbir answered, tapping the scroll tube against the palm of his hand. "Here is a copy of their records, along with an account of their escape. Everything has been done according to the mandates."</p><p>"I had heard that they had been returned. They are quite a pair!" The blacksmith shook his head. "When they were in here, they were wild as deer and gave us no end of trouble. Come over here," he called to his assistant blacksmith, "you remember them, do you not?"</p><p>"Master, if I live to be as ancient as the mountains, I will never forget those girls," the assistant answered, going along with what his employer had said. "I am surprised that they did not kill someone when they were loose, murder innocent people in their beds and take their money. You would not think it, them with their pretty faces and blue eyes, but they are bad ones, Master Inbir. Never fear, though; we will get those new collars on them in no time, even if we have to tie them down!"</p><p>"By the Gods! They are not wild beasts, man! Just two simpleminded wenches from the North!" Inbir gave the blacksmith and his assistant a disgusted look. "You have the required permits and all the legal papers; suppose that you get to work. I do not have all day to tarry here!"</p><p>Inbir handed the scroll tube to the blacksmith's assistant, and the two men conferred, their heads close together. With a surly nod, the dour little man - so emaciated that many suspected that he suffered from an infestation of worms - retrieved two brass plates and iron collars and placed them on the work bench. "Numbers 99337-GER021T and 99338-GER022T," he muttered as he inscribed the plates and riveted them to the collars. Turning to the blacksmith, he announced, "My job is finished now. They are all yours. You can fit them with their new necklaces anytime."</p><p>"Foolish maidens," the blacksmith looked at the twins, "to think that you could escape the webs of the master slaver!" The grossly obese man picked up the collar, and licking his lips, ran his finger around the inside of the iron band. "Only the best for the wenches of Rohan!" he chortled. "Now take a seat on the stool over there," he motioned with his hand to a low three-legged stool, its wood scuffed and scratched from much use. Elfhild took her seat and waited. As the blacksmith drew nearer, the reeking stench of his body grew stronger until it became overpowering. Almost gagging, she coughed several times before clamping a hand over her nose and mouth in nausea.</p><p>"Something wrong?" the blacksmith challenged as he walked behind her, pressing a fist against his belly to force himself to expel a loud belch.</p><p>"I fear I have taken ill," Elfhild replied innocently. "This climate does not agree with me, and being in this shop only makes it worse. The heat from the forge, and the smell… of the burning coal." She bowed her head, both to make it easier for the blacksmith to put the collar on her neck and to conceal her smirk.</p><p>His small, porcine eyes gleaming, the blacksmith grinned unpleasantly. "You know, Inbir, this little wench thinks she is pretty foxy. Maybe she ought to be marked with a penalty brand that proclaims to one and all that she is a runaway! It would not take long for me to have the irons glowing hot and ready to mark her flesh. It will take the approval of someone higher than I am to do it, though. What say you, Master Inbir? Will you ask the great Shakh's permission to brand her so all can tell by the marks that this little vixen is a troublemaker?"</p><p>"What!" Inbir laughed, shaking his head at the blacksmith's audacity. "Marring her flesh would lessen her value, and you know how the Shakh views that."</p><p>"You know best, Master Inbir," the blacksmith grunted. "Now to beg your pardon, I must be about my work."</p><p>Inbir nodded and returned to staring out at the street that passed by the shop.</p><p>Pushing aside Elfhild's hair, the blacksmith pressed the two ends of the collar together, inserted the key, and locked the collar securely around her neck. Seething with anger at being denied his cruel punishment, he had worked himself up into an agitated state, his dilated, hairy nostrils taking in short, quick puffs of air, his chest heaving like the bellows that fanned his forge. By the time he was ready to fit Elffled's collar, a sheen of sweat had coated his forehead, and he wiped it off with the back of his forearm. Leaning over Elffled, he caressed her hair before pushing the thick mane away and placing the collar about her neck. Unseen to Inbir's eyes, the aroused blacksmith rubbed his crotch against the trembling girl's back as he drew the two pieces of the collar together and locked it.</p><p>Remembering the humiliating treatment which she had received only the week before, Elffled cringed at his touch and moved away. "Please, have you finished yet?" she asked coolly. Closing her eyes, she imagined hearing the loathsome man's screams as his feet were whipped. Would he bellow like an ox, or scream like a little girl? It mattered little to her, as long as he suffered for what he had done.</p><p>"I had not even started!" the blacksmith guffawed as he quickly slid his hand beneath the apron and smoothed down the raging monster in his breeches. "But, aye, you can go," he replied, squeezing her shoulder. He dared make no overtures to the twins while Inbir was in the shop, for that would only cause him trouble. He reassured himself that the young Southron had been too occupied with his casual surveillance of the street outside to take notice of his mild indiscretion. "Master Inbir," he looked to the entryway and raised his voice, "their new collars are locked around their pretty necks. They will not be getting these off anytime soon!"</p><p>"A man's work is always rewarded." Inbir gave the blacksmith a cool, detached smile. Taking a small silver coin from the pouch at his belt, he flipped the silver to the man. The blacksmith would probably need it once Awidan dismissed him from his service.</p><p>The smith caught it in midair. "The master is generous," he bowed low from the waist.</p><p>Inbir nodded, motioned to the sisters to follow him, and, turning on his heel, he led them through the open entryway.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. A Night in the Shakh's Tent</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild<br/><br/>As Inbir led the twins back towards the colorful pavilions of the slave traders, they asked him questions about the sights which they saw. Although they were both frightened of these strange, foreign men, Elfhild and Elffled were also curious about their ways and customs. There was little time for Inbir to speak with the girls, though, for they were soon at the tent of Esarhaddion uHuzziya. Inbir turned the twins over to the two swarthy eunuch guards at the entrance. After a few brief words with the eunuch in charge - a heavily-built black man named Alad -  Inbir bid them farewell and departed. <br/><br/>His face set in an impassive mask, the eunuch's probing dark eyes critically inspected the twins for flaws. Elfhild and Elffled concluded that he was displeased with what he saw, for his thick, black eyebrows drew together, his nose wrinkling as though he had smelt something disgusting. With no other comment than the injunction, "Take off your shoes and leave them beside the entryway," the eunuch drew open the goat hair curtain and pointed inside.<br/><br/>Stepping into the tent, the girls found themselves in a spacious chamber lit by metal lanterns which were hung from the roof supports. The lanterns, whose sides were perforated by an intricate grid of triangular holes, cast lacy patterns of light and shadow over the floor and walls. Other lanterns with panels of clear and stained glass in shades of yellow, amber, and green bathed the chamber in a soft golden light. The floor was covered with thick carpets woven with bright colors in elaborate floral and geometric designs. Off to one side was a large round table which sat low to the ground. A ring of cozy-looking pillows surrounded it. In a small brazier set at the side of the tent, a cube of incense burned, the heat releasing a deep, musky scent which perfumed the whole chamber.<br/><br/>Born in modest circumstances, the sisters were accustomed to sleeping on straw-filled mats upon a straw-covered dirt floor. Their home had only two rooms, one with stalls for the animals and a loft for supplies, and the other where the family lived, cooked, ate, and slept. Though this tent was sparsely furnished, it was far grander than anything the sisters had ever seen. They could scarcely take in such finery, and they marveled at the splendor of this lavish display of wealth and comfort. Never before had they realized just how richly the lords of the South lived, and indeed how poor their beloved old home was in comparison. <br/><br/>"Oh, Hild, did you ever see anything like this!" a bedazzled Elffled exclaimed, clasping her hands together as she turned around in circles, surveying the chamber. "I feel like a princess in the hall of a king!"<br/><br/>"I doubt that Esarhaddon uHuzziya is royalty, unless he were a prince of thieves!" Elfhild laughed sardonically. "Still, I am almost afraid to walk over these floor coverings, for fear of getting them dirty and facing the wrath of the Southrons." She looked down and saw that the tip of her fetid stocking, stiff with days of dried sweat, was defiling a cheery yellow flowering vine which wound its way around lacy blue octagons in a field of crimson.<br/><br/>Stepping gingerly over the carpet, the sisters came to a long stretch of curtain which divided the tent into two sections. Taking a deep breath, Elfhild led the way through the opening in the curtain. They saw another chamber, appointed similarly to the first, except here the carpets had been pulled away and a tub of steaming water sat in the center of the room. Two slender young black women, beauties from Far Harad, sat on the floor, engrossed in their own conversation. Seeing the sisters, they rose to their feet, gracefully bowing from the middle as they touched their hearts, lips and forehead in a formal greeting.</p><p>"Welcome, Mistresses," the taller of the pair greeted them. "I am Su-a, and this is Su-din. We have been sent to treat your hair and help you bathe."</p><p>Both women were naked from the waist up in preparation for the bath. Colorful striped towels were wrapped around their waists like narrowly cut skirts. On their heads were petite orange turbans which kept their hair away from their faces. Long golden earrings hung from pierced lobes and swung when they moved their heads. Although both women were dressed identically, Su-a had refined, angular features, her face almost aristocratic in appearance, while Su-din was shorter in stature, with a round face and bright eyes that sparkled above a broad nose and full, plum-colored lips.</p><p>"I am Elfhild, and this is my sister, Elffled." Elfhild smiled at the two women and gestured towards her twin.</p><p>Elffled bowed politely to Su-a and Su-din. "I am pleased to meet you." She had not had a real bath since she had been stolen from her home back in May, and she looked forward to removing a month's worth of grime and stench from her body.<br/><br/>After expressing their horrified shock at the rampant infestation of vermin in the Rohirric slaves' hair, Su-a and Su-din soon had the twins' long tresses soaking in olive oil and spices. When the servant girls had completed the lice treatment, they wrapped the twins' oil-saturated hair in towels to help smother the lice and protect the rich furnishings of the tent from the oil. The twins were next bathed in the tub of perfumed water, dried off, and given simple, unadorned robes to wear for the remainder of the evening. Both Elfhild and Elffled were exceedingly grateful for the bath, for now they felt more like civilized humans and less like a pair of foul-smelling orcs who reveled in their overpowering stench.<br/><br/>Assuring the twins that the oil would be washed from their hair the next morning and their filthy, trail worn clothing would be replaced, Su-a and Su-din wished them a pleasant evening. Bowing their way out of the tent, they left Elfhild and Elffled to wait for their supper. Although the bath had done much to relax their bodies and restore their sense of pride, it had done little to alleviate the girls' troubled minds. They were uncertain why they had been brought to Esarhaddon's tent and given the freedom to move freely about their surroundings. Their eyes were drawn to the low couch near the back of the inner chamber. A crimson coverlet shot with golden threads was turned back to reveal deep maroon silken sheets which glistened with a subtle luster in the light of the overhead brass lanterns. Perhaps it was the slaver's intent to lie with them that night. That thought terrified the sisters.</p><p>Elfhild and Elffled were brought up to be chaste young women, and had always believed that the act of lovemaking was reserved for the marriage bed. To lie with a man outside of marriage and become with big with his child would bring shame to their families, and that was something that neither girl had ever wanted to do. However, now they were homeless orphans at the mercy of a powerful man who held the power of life and death over them. If they tried to refuse his demands, he might beat them or even kill them. He had already threatened them with death if they did not accept slavery. Could such a man possess mercy and prove to be a tender lover? Or would he take them with violence and force?</p><p>The twins' apprehensive thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of their supper. The meal was a simple one by the standards of the Southrons - an earthenware pot of stewed beef and vegetables, a loaf of flatbread to sop up the soup, some cheese, and dried fruit. There was no carafe of water left on the table for them to drink, but after the supper was completed, the servants brought them each a goblet of wine red as blood, sweetened with honey. The delicious concoction was so heady - and they were unused to drinking fine wines - that the sisters drank the vessels dry and asked for more. The polite servant boy quickly complied with their request, and with a grin assured them that they could have even a third if they wished. After they had completed only half of the second draught, the girls both felt more than a little tipsy and turned down the boy's offer. His luminous black eyes smiled gently at them from beneath long, thick lashes as he bowed courteously, murmuring softly, "As you wish."<br/><br/>Scarcely before the slave boys had cleared away the dirty dishes and the uneaten portions of the meal, the sisters began to feel incredibly drowsy. The comforting bath had relaxed their aching muscles, and the treatment for lice had stilled the tormenting itch. They had enjoyed a good supper, their stomachs were full, and nothing terrible had happened to them so far. Feeling the exhaustion from the long day's journey rolling over them, they settled comfortably against the thick cushions at their backs. As they gave in to their bodies' gentle urgings to rest, the twins felt their sorrows washing away like words written into the shifting sands of a beach. Elfhild yawned and then took in a deep breath, expanding her lungs as far as they could go. Holding her breath, she was captivated by the sensation that she was so light and buoyant that the air might lift her up and carry her along like a bit of feather down floating on a gentle breeze. Contented, lethargic, at blissful peace for a change, Elffled felt a peaceful tranquility washing over her like gentle waves. Neither sister spoke. There was no need; the feeling of euphoria seemed contagious.<br/><br/>Deciding that it was time to go to bed for the night, the twins stumbled wearily to the woven mats that Su-a and Su-din had told them were theirs. "I think we imbibed too much of that delicious wine," Elfhild giggled as she staggered, her feet seeming to float along the carpet. As she lowered herself to her sleeping pallet, she was certain that a gentle zephyr had caught her, supporting her as she descended. Settling their heads on the pillows, both girls were asleep almost instantly.<br/><br/>When Elfhild finally floated back to consciousness, she was uncertain of how long she had slept. She did not think it had been long, for the lamps in the tent were still burning. On the pallet near her, Elffled did not stir. She was still sound asleep, one arm flung over her pillow, her right leg bare to the knee from where she had restlessly kicked aside the blanket. The tent was very still, except for their quiet, rhythmic breathing. Elfhild looked up, entranced by the myriad of colors which seemed to be dancing over her. Fascinated, she watched as the light in the overhead brass lanterns shone through the intricate glass patterns on the sides, sending splashes of amber, green and gold light flowing over the chamber. The heavy scent of perfume was thick in the air, delightful and mysterious, the fragrance intoxicating. She inhaled deeply, soothed by the delicious scents which filled her nostrils.<br/><br/>Elfhild dreamily traced a pattern on the carpet, entranced with the feel of the thick wool. She heard a dog bark somewhere in the camp, its cry joined by another, and then another, the sounds amplifying until there was a whole chorus of canine yelping and howling. The sounds seemed incredibly wondrous to her ears, and she sighed at the sheer aural delight of their splendor. She attempted to sit up, but it was as though her body had fallen into a deep featherbed which was far too comfortable to leave. She reached her hands up to capture the cascading amber, green and golden light which fell over her arms and hands like moonbeams shining upon colorful jewels. Oh, she could stay here forever! She fell back limply upon the mat, her mind fading into nothingness.<br/><br/>When she awakened again some time later, Elfhild noticed that the dogs had stopped barking. Glancing at Elffled, she heard her gentle breathing and saw that her sister had turned to face her. There was a blissful expression upon Elffled's face, and she hugged her pillow, clinging to it as though it were a lover. Struggling to force her sluggish body to move, Elfhild rolled over on her side. She shook her head to clear her befuddled senses, and, yawning, she ground her fingers into her closed eyelids, attempting to banish the languor that she felt. The wine which she and her sister had drunk certainly was potent! Of course, neither of them was used to wine so rich and heady. A twinge of apprehension fluttered through her mind like a moth; she dreaded to think of how she would feel in the morning. But why think of unpleasantness when she felt so happy?<br/><br/>She heard voices and laughter coming from the outer chamber of the tent, and smiling foolishly, she looked towards a thin crack in the tapestry covering which was hung between the two chambers. She could not seem to focus her eyes, and the approaching figures appeared to her as blurry images. In spite of the thick mists which caressed her mind like a ghostly lover, she sensed that she should not let anyone know that she was awake. She eased over on her back, gasping softly as she watched the tent spin around her, the colored reflections of the lamp light swirling, sometimes separating and then merging once again. She was not certain whether her eyes were closed or open, and wondered if anyone would notice and give her the answer to her quandary. The concept struck her as amusing, and she could not help but giggle.<br/><br/>The arras parted and the blurry figures came into the room, but their laughter had grown so loud that it covered up her silly tittering. Finally Elfhild's eyelids closed and she lay there, listening to the soft sounds of slippered feet as they crossed the carpet near her pallet and moved on towards the master's couch.<br/><br/>She heard a woman laugh, a lilting, pleasant sound that rang out across the chamber. When the woman spoke, her Westron was tinged with a Gondorian accent. "My lord! What about those two girls over there? Will you allow them to stay here? Would you have us corrupt them?"<br/><br/>Another woman tittered. "I know you would <em>love</em> to corrupt them, Lothwen! Do not pretend that you would not!" <br/><br/>"Lothwen and Meril, take no concern." The man's voice was gruff, slurred slightly as though he had imbibed too much wine. "The draught which they drank will keep them asleep for hours yet. The only thing the two of you have to worry about tonight is giving me pleasure."<br/><br/>The first woman laughed again, a higher pitch this time, and Elfhild heard the swish of cloth brushing over skin. There was a slap, followed by heavy breathing - a struggle, perhaps? Elfhild was sure of it when a woman moaned, and in the background, the man spoke sharply, his voice trailing off to a low grunt. Once there was the ripping sound of cloth being torn, and then a loud gasp. The man's husky voice murmured, "Your breasts are like firm Khandian melons, sweet and succulent!"<br/><br/>"My lord!" a female voice exclaimed petulantly. "Did you have to rip my gown from me just to see them? It was my best!"<br/><br/>"Meril, I will order old Awidan to buy you a new one," the same masculine voice growled.<br/><br/>There was a squeak as though someone had sat or fallen down heavily on the couch. Elfhild smiled foolishly, reaching out to touch the many-colored gossamer curtain of oblivion that had begun to drape its translucent folds over her supine form. Running her fingers over the descending material, she reached up and drew it to her bosom as she tumbled down into a dark cave of joyful tranquility.<br/><br/>Wakefulness came quicker to her the next time. When she awoke, she discovered that she had not only rolled to her side, her pillow clutched to her chest, but that her vision had cleared. Her eyes were drawn to the couch, where an erotic drama was transpiring, illuminated by the faint light of the brass lanterns.<br/><br/>The rich cover of the low couch lay tangled and forgotten on the floor, the maroon sheets despoiled and rumpled. Near the middle of the low couch lay a voluptuous raven-haired beauty whose shapely legs were spread wide apart, bent at the knees and raised up into the air. The slaver knelt between those ivory legs, his hands braced in the crook of her knees as she rested her feet upon his forearms. Her body raised slightly at the waist, she leaned her head back between the breasts of another woman who equaled, if not exceeded, her beauty. The reclining woman's unbound hair spilled like streams of ink over the lap of the other woman, who was leaning forward slightly, caressing the reclining beauty's rosy nipples with her fingers.<br/><br/>Her besotted mind not fully comprehending what was occurring on the couch, Elfhild stared blankly as she witnessed the woman thrust her lower body up, meeting the violent slam of Esarhaddon's hips. Elfhild watched with astonishment as the two bodies became one strange, obscene creature that was the very incarnation of lust. Howling like an enraged djinn, the slaver shuddered, his body gripped with paroxysms of unbridled pleasure. The reclining woman shrieked, digging her fingers deep into the couch, as her body contorted, writhing and arching as though a demon had possessed her. The woman behind her bent down, gripping her face in her hands, and kissed her full on the lips, her mouth moving over hers in a long and lingering kiss.<br/><br/>Never in Elfhild's life had she seen anything like this scene of wild debauchery. She closed her eyes tightly, refusing to watch any more. At least the noisy lovemaking of the amorous trio had quieted down to gentle moaning and sighing. A little later, she heard someone rising from the bed and the whispery brush of bare feet padding across the carpet, moving towards the small table at the side of the tent. Water splashed into a basin, and then the soft footfalls returned to the bed. Hushed feminine voices spoke quietly as they bent over the slave trader, cleaning his body as he moaned softly. Once again, the footsteps padded across the carpet and returned. Then all was silent, except for Esarhaddon's soft snoring.<br/><br/>Elfhild listened, hoping that there would be no more of the trio's lascivious activities that night. In the quiet of the tent, she wondered if anything she had seen had really happened. Perhaps she had been dreaming with her eyelids open, besotted to the point of insensibility. Too much drink ruined the mind and body, she had been told. If her mother could see her and Elffled now, drunken like slatterns, unable even to rise from their beds, how disappointed and ashamed she would be of them! <br/><br/>Then, suddenly, Elfhild experienced a moment of clarity, and Esarhaddon's words echoed through her mind. "The draught... will keep them asleep for hours..." She and her sister had been drugged, drugged with some foul Southern potion! She dared not even imagine what bizarre ingredients had gone into the evil draught. Even now the witch's brew was having its effect. Sensations of serenity and peace blew over her like a cool breeze. Her eyes fluttering closed, she sighed languidly. What did it matter if he had drugged them? They were guiltless in the matter. Freed of shame, she gave in to the blissful feelings which caressed her senses, surrendering to a tranquility that she had not felt in months, perhaps not ever.</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. A Conversation in the Morning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>Elfhild was awakened by a hand gently shaking her shoulder. Blinking her eyes into focus, she beheld the smiling face of Su-a, one of the servants who had assisted her in bathing and dressing the previous evening. Elfhild groaned and raised a hand to clutch her brow. The sun might have risen but she was not yet ready to meet the day. Her head ached and felt like a pillow stuffed with too much down, and although she had slept for hours, her limbs felt heavy, as though a leaden blanket had been spread over her body. </p><p>"It is dawn, Mistress," Su-a exclaimed in a voice that was much too loud and cheery for Elfhild's liking. "Time to wake up so that we may wash your hair and comb the dead vermin from your lovely tresses. You must remember that this treatment needs to be repeated in two weeks to kill any nits that might hatch. Now if you will just go over there and take a seat..." The girl gestured towards the same spot where the tub had been the previous night. In its place were two stools, two empty pottery bowls and four water-filled buckets. "Everything is in readiness for you."</p><p>Yawning, Elfhild sat up halfway, resting her weight on her elbows. She leaned forward and placed her hands on her aching skull, kneading the scalp with her fingertips. She glanced over to Elffled, who had just awakened and was rising to her feet. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, Elffled gave her sister a bright smile before yawning and stretching her slumber-stiffened body. Elfhild noted that she appeared to have enjoyed a thoroughly refreshing and satisfying sleep. Evidently her rest had not been interrupted by the amorous nocturnal noises of Esarhaddon and the two Gondorian prostitutes.</p><p>"Mistresses, you must hurry!" implored Su-a, who was the more authoritative of the two servants. "There is not much time to care for your hair and then dress you before your breakfast will be served. Everything must be done quickly, for the great Shakh is impatient to be leaving!" </p><p>Elfhild struggled to a sitting position, wincing as she felt the ache of the many injuries which she had received over the past few days. Gingerly hugging her chest, she looked over to the slaver's couch and found that the bed had been made up, the maroon coverlet once again spread over it. Esarhaddon was already gone. "Where is the slaver?" she mumbled. </p><p>"Oh, the great lord was up long before the dawn," Su-a informed her. "He breakfasts now with Lord Awidan, but that is no concern of ours. Hurry now; take your places on the stools so that we may tend to your hair."</p><p>Elfhild sleepily watched the cheerful and smiling servants as they assisted Elffled in undressing and then wrapped a long towel about her body. Although she knew that she was probably being uncharitable, even petty, Elfhild could not help but wonder whether Su-a and Su-din would be this pleasant had they not been given orders to treat them in the most solicitous of manners. Since being captured months ago, Elfhild's naturally trusting nature had begun gradually eroding away, and she wondered if the only one she could truly trust was her sister. And then a gentle memory stepped into her mind - the tall, thin irascible old man whose gruff expression could turn in an instant to a beaming smile. Alas, they had been given little time to mourn for Tarlanc - only a few moments by his grave ere it was filled!</p><p>A lump rose in Elfhild's throat as she remembered his face - the spider webs at the corners of his eyes and how they crinkled when his clear eyes, undimmed with age, drew up in amusement; the translucent skin which looked as fragile as a scribe's parchment; and the impish smile he had when he thought no one was looking at him. Although his life had been a sad one - he had lost the love of his life when he was young and then had been forced to say farewell forever to his family at the beginning of the war - still he always had a joke, a story, a song or a tale to tell to lift their spirits. When he had first come upon them as they were looting his cottage, Elfhild had judged him a demented old curmudgeon whom age and woe had rendered insane. She had been afraid of him at first, suspecting that he had lascivious designs on them both, or if not that, then that he planned to turn them over to the slavers for a reward.</p><p>How wrong she had been! Although he was not pleased that they had robbed his house, he had treated them kindly, even removing the collars from their necks and hiding those hated things forever beneath the waters of the mill pond. A kind old rascal, it did not matter to the old miller whether they were happy or angry with him. Even when they frowned and railed, were cross and out of sorts, he would never become angry, but would scold them in good-natured kindness, much like a grandfather.</p><p>If he had allowed the Southern slave traders to take them away back into bondage, he could have reaped a rich reward, but not Tarlanc! Not that brave and honorable old gentleman! He had tried to help them in every way that he could, even planning the escape back to Rohan, but death had been his only reward. Grief at his loss surged over Elfhild, but that emotion was mixed with one equally strong - black, bitter guilt. She was the cause of his death. If she had never accepted his offer to lead them back to Rohan, the kind, dear old gentleman would still be alive!</p><p>How strange were the workings of fate! She, a polite, well-mannered girl, the daughter of a poor but respectable family, was directly responsible for the death of an orc, and indirectly responsible for the deaths of a man, a dog, two horses, and two more orcs. Oh, how evil would be the final judgment of the deeds of her life? Would, perhaps, the Gods forgive her for Tarlanc's death, considering that she had helped rid the world of three despicable orcs?</p><p>"Mistress?" Su-a's slightly irritated voice shook Elfhild from her reverie. "Are you going to come now and sit on the stool so that I may groom your hair? Su-din has almost finished with your sister." Her head cocked to one side, Su-a waited beside one of the stools, her foot tapping up and down impatiently. </p><p>"Oh! I am sorry. Forgive me! I must have dozed off again," Elfhild mumbled, rising unsteadily to her feet. As she walked over to the stool, she felt light-headed, so much so that when she sat down, she had to grasp both sides of the seat to steady herself. Elffled, who was seated on a nearby stool while Su-din combed through her long, wet hair for lice, placed a steadying hand upon Elfhild's shoulder.</p><p>Su-a smiled sympathetically at Elfhild as she stripped her of her robe and gave her a towel to clutch about herself. "Oh, Mistress, I understand. How exhausted you must still be from your long journey, and I have heard that you are just recovering from an illness. Please realize that there is not much time for us to get you prepared. Your master will be angry with Su-din and me if you are not ready by the time he and his men leave. Now please hold this bowl on your lap and lean forward while I comb the excess oil and dead nits from your hair," Su-a instructed as she unwound the towel from Elfhild's head and then handed her the ceramic bowl.</p><p>While Su-a ran the many-toothed ivory comb through Elfhild's hair, Su-din lathered up Elffled's tresses, scrubbing diligently to remove the oil and debris. Then she poured one of the pails of water over Elffled's head, rinsing and combing through the hair again. She kept the slave boys constantly moving on a repetitious circuit to take the dirty water out and return with clean water. As they were clad only in towels wrapped around their bodies, the twins felt awkward in the presence of the boys, but Su-a and Su-din assured them that the boys were eunuchs and would not lust for them. When Su-din was satisfied that she had successfully scrubbed out all the oil and any lice which she had missed previously, she dried Elffled's hair and wrapped it with a towel, winding the soft, thick material about her head like a turban. Leaving the clutter and mess of the shampooing to the servant boys, Su-din led Elffled to a trunk at the western side of the tent.</p><p>As Su-din opened the chest and showed Elffled the clothing inside, Elfhild noticed that her sister was frowning in disappointment. A few minutes later, she saw the reason for her long face as Elffled stepped into a pair of stark white cotton breeches with legs that fell slightly above her knees. Next came a simple short white under-tunic which had been embroidered with strange tiny runes sewn over the approximate location of each vital organ. Over the undergarments came a long outer tunic of drab green and a pair of baggy tan pantaloons. After Su-din had wrapped an orange and brown stripped sash several times about Elffled's waist, she pronounced the costume nearly complete. Bringing one of the stools over to the carpeted area, Su-din instructed Elffled to sit while she helped her don a pair of short, serviceable riding boots. Su-din was quick to inform both of them that they had also been provided with fine woolen burnooses.</p><p>"I had hoped that I might be given women's clothing, something on the order of that lovely robe I wore last night," Elffled remarked dejectedly. "I did not really want to wear men's breeches again..." Dressing up as boys had brought her and her sister so much trouble with Sharapul and Âmbalfîm, and she shuddered at the memories.</p><p>"Breeches?" Su-din asked, tilting her head slightly in puzzlement.</p><p>"These." Elffled pointed to the tan trousers.</p><p>"Oh, pantaloons!" Su-din exclaimed, understanding dawning on her face. "While those are indeed boy's pantaloons, you should realize that both men and women wear such garments in the South and East. This clothing will stand you in good stead, for you will be riding astride over harsh and rough country. The pantaloons will protect your legs from briars and thorns; the under tunic has been embroidered with powerful spells that will protect you from enemies; and the burnoose and its hood will shield you from the sun and wind. The great Shakh was only looking after your welfare when he directed that you should wear this clothing. He surely cannot provide you a palanquin for your comfort!" </p><p>"Then I am in his debt," Elffled remarked softly.</p><p>While Su-a finished combing the dead nits from Elfhild's hair, Su-din called for a servant boy to fetch Elffled a glass of tea and some sesame cakes. As Elffled drank her tea, Su-din rubbed a drop of aromatic oil through her hair, for all of the washing had stripped it of its natural moisture and left it tangled and squeaky to the touch. After smoothing Elffled's damp tresses, Su-din began combing them so they lay against her back straight as stalks of wheat. </p><p>"I am sorry, but you do not have any choice in how you will wear your hair. The master specified that it was to be braided, but he will allow you to choose the style of braid."</p><p>"Just a single braid down the back, please," Elffled replied, uncertain of the styles of the South.</p><p>As the two slave girls worked, they chattered away in their soft voices, discussing the latest titillating gossip of the camp. "Oh, Su-din," Su-a stifled a yawn, "I am so sleepy! The noises of the camp kept me up all night, and I was not able to sleep for more than a few seconds. Did you have trouble sleeping because of all the commotion?"</p><p>"I could barely sleep all night," Su-din replied as she searched through the contents of the chest for something suitable to braid in Elffled's hair. "The guards came for the blacksmith sometime around eight o'clock last evening, and as they led him away, the man was sobbing and begging for mercy. Rumor has it that he even befouled his pantaloons! Then when they locked him in the stocks and took the cane to his feet, he screamed the loudest of all of the miscreants. Everyone could hear him weeping and moaning as though he were being killed. It is told that they beat his feet until they bled, but that is common when the bastinado is applied." She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. "Finally he was moved from the tent where he was housed because his wailing was keeping many in the camp awake - or so I heard."</p><p>"They should have gagged him throughout the whole thing. That would have kept that repulsive pig from squealing and allowed us to sleep!" Su-a giggled, a malicious gleam in her dark brown eyes. "I wish I could have seen him squirm!"</p><p>"At least his four guards took their punishment like soldiers and did not whimper like cowards," Su-din opined knowingly.</p><p>"If anyone deserved punishment, it was those crude men," Elffled remarked in a dour undertone, resentfully looking down at the floor. "They took liberties with my sister and me, and would have had their way with us if they could have." Though it was cruel of her, she felt a sense of satisfaction that the blacksmith and the guards had been punished for their lechery.</p><p>Lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, Su-din confided, "The blacksmith vowed that two wanton slave girls had tried to seduce him, and when he refused as a matter of honor, they told their master that he and the guards had tried to force themselves upon them. One of our lord's slave boys reported that as he was walking by the tent after the canings, he overheard the blacksmith swear that he would take his revenge upon the girls and kill both of them."</p><p>"Oh, that is horrible!" Elfhild exclaimed, blanching with horror.</p><p>Elffled lifted her head defiantly. "If those were indeed the blacksmith's words, then I wish they had whipped him to death! I know that I would shed no tears for his passing!"</p><p>"Elffled!" Elfhild exclaimed in dismay. "You should never wish the death of another person!"</p><p>Elffled turned blazing eyes upon her sister. "That filthy old lecher lied about us! Hmph!"</p><p>Su-a raised a scornful eyebrow. "Nothing but foolish talk, the braying of a jackass. You should ignore it. The only ones who will believe his outlandish tale are his own vile friends. You need not worry about your lives, either. The man is so fat and lazy that he would not make the effort to kill anyone." </p><p>"Too cowardly, you mean," Su-din interjected. "Only a fool would threaten the property of the great Shakh Esarhaddon uHuzziya!"</p><p>Reaching down to the small box where she kept her supplies, Su-a took out a jar of soap and began massaging the creamy, fragrant liquid into Elfhild's hair. "Now, mistresses, whatever the blacksmith has threatened, you should not worry; he will never carry through with any of it," she quietly reassured them. </p><p>"From what I understand, the boorish blacksmith, his disgusting little assistant, and those lecherous guards will be leaving the service of Shakh Esarhaddon," Su-din exclaimed triumphantly, smiling as she looked up from braiding Elffled's hair, which she had momentarily forgotten. "Never again will they touch any woman who belongs to Shakh Esarhaddon!"</p><p>The four girls fell into silence while the two servants finished the twins' toilette. After cleansing and combing Elfhild's hair and rubbing a smoothing oil through the strands, Su-a assisted her in dressing. The clothing that Elfhild was given was similar to that which her sister wore, the pantaloons and long tunic of a young man of the South. Soon their breakfast arrived, and the twins ate hungrily as they listened to Su-a and Su-din share camp gossip. Though they did not understand everything that the two girls said, the twins found the conversation pleasant and felt grateful at being included. This was their first time being around women from Harad, and the twins were curious about how their culture and customs differed from those of Rohan. Perhaps if other Southrons and Easterlings were this kind to them, then being a slave would not be so bad.</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Crossing the Anduin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild<br/><br/>The twins had just finished their breakfast when Alad pushed aside the arras and peered into the room. "Your horses are saddled and waiting for you outside. Make haste now," he announced unceremoniously and then quickly withdrew.<br/><br/>The two servant girls helped Elfhild and Elffled don their burnooses, and then brushed their lips over the hems of the twins' sleeves. "Farewell, Mistresses. We will miss you!" Su-a exclaimed, smiling.<br/><br/>"Peace be upon you," Su-din wished them, "and may the Gods bless and protect you on your journey."</p><p>"Thank you both." Elffled inclined her head. "You have both been so kind to us, and I wish we could have spent more time together."</p><p>"It was a pleasure meeting both of you," Elfhild smiled. "May you have good health and good fortune. Farewell!"</p><p>After saying their goodbyes, Elfhild and Elffled walked through the tent and out into the bright sun of early morning. Esarhaddon was nowhere in sight, but his three lieutenants were waiting for them. Once again, the twins' hands were tied in front of them, and they were helped onto their saddles by Ganbar and Ubri. Making sure that the twins had no possibility for escape, Ubri took the lead line attached to the halter of Elffled's horse, while Ganbar took the one for Elfhild's. Barely speaking to the girls, the men mounted their own animals, slouched in their saddles, and waited for the arrival of the slaver. Their casual manner indicated to the twins that the men did not expect Esarhaddon to arrive anytime soon. Looking around, the girls saw that the slave Ásal was strangely missing, and Inbir had assumed charge of the pack horses.<br/><br/>Though Elffled had found Ásal often annoying in his attempts to make himself indispensable to them, still she missed his cheerful presence. The eunuch's good humor might only have been affected for the impression it gave, but still it was a welcome diversion. Perhaps he had fallen ill during the night, and there was no ready replacement for him. That would explain why Inbir was in charge of the pack horses. Elffled sighed as she cast a glance in Inbir's direction, her eyes lingering upon his handsome face. Though Aeffe fancied the young Southron, Elffled was quite taken with him as well.</p><p>"Where is Ásal this morning? …Or have you been assigned to be my servant?" As those last words left her lips, she blushed furiously and clasped her bound hands over her mouth to stifle a giggle.<br/><br/>Inbir laughed, his dark, kohl-accentuated eyes flashing in a way which made her heart race even faster. "Though you might like that, Northern slave, you will never see a man of Harad as a servant to a mere woman, even if she were free!" Of course, that statement was hardly a reflection of the truth, for many Southern men gave their women undying, almost slavish, affection, swearing promises of eternal love and lavishing them with costly gifts. Hearts pounding feverously, lips uttering anguished sighs of devotion, lovelorn shakhs often spouted verses of mediocre poetry, swearing that they would die if they did not see a smile upon the lips of a favorite concubine. Many times it was the wives and concubines who really ran the household, not the husband, although he liked to pretend he did. With his romantic poet's soul, Inbir was a fool for love, but he certainly did not want this ignorant foreign girl knowing that!</p><p>What little courage Elffled possessed had left her by that point, and she looked away, suddenly feeling awkward and quite embarrassed. Oh, what ever had possessed her to say such a thing? She always tried to avoid the attention of these men, not attract it. She licked her lips nervously, deliberating upon whether to speak or keep her usual silence. Curiosity about the whereabouts of the slave boy got the best of her, however, and, turning back to Inbir, she asked, "Seriously, sir, where is Ásal?"<br/><br/>By that time, Inbir was no longer looking her way. Instead he was watching Shakh Awidan's tent, from which Esarhaddon and Awidan had just emerged. "Shakh uHuzziya no longer owns the boy, for he gave him to Awidan as a gift."<br/><br/>"He gave him away as though he were an unwanted cloak?!" Elffled exclaimed, shocked.<br/><br/>Elfhild gasped softly, her mind recoiling at how quickly a person could be sold or given away by these Haradrim. "So that is why Ásal seemed so moody on the ride yesterday," she realized. "Why did Lord Esarhaddon do that, sir?" she queried, still shaken by the news. "Ásal was always most respectful and polite and seemed sincerely interested in our welfare."<br/><br/>"He had his own reasons." Inbir dismissed their queries with a shrug of his shoulders. "You should not ask so many questions."<br/><br/>Slapping a fly on his horse's neck, Ganbar studied his hand, which held the mangled remains of legs and wings. "If you ask me, Inbir," he yawned, straightening himself up in the saddle, "what these girls are really hoping to hear is that Ásal had gotten himself embroiled in some really salacious activities. You know how women's ears always itch to hear the most scandalous of gossip. Of course, they are certain that Ásal was first tortured and then buried up to his neck in the ground and left to die. Well, these slave girls might be disappointed at what really happened. Maybe that is what he deserved, because he was an arrogant little bastard, but he got off much easier than that!"<br/><br/>"Sirs, if I am permitted to ask, what did the boy do?" Elfhild asked cautiously.<br/><br/>"Questions are permitted if they are asked respectfully," Ubri spoke up, glancing indifferently over towards Elfhild. "The answer is that Shakh uHuzziya does not have to have a reason to do what he wishes with his slaves. How anyone could have kept the boy as long as the shakh did is beyond me, for the little prick was like a groveling dog, licking boots and fawning. Perhaps Esarhaddon had suffered his whining voice too long." He shrugged. "It does not matter why he gave him to Shakh Awidan. A man can get rid of an unworthy slave for any reason, or none at all."<br/><br/>"Thank you, sir, for explaining this to us." Elfhild inclined her head in a respectful bow. Though the news about Ásal was quite alarming, it just went to prove how treacherous and unfeeling these people could be, and how the only one whom she could really trust was her sister. <br/><br/>Time stretched out and still Awidan and Esarhaddon were engaged in a lively discussion. Elfhild began to grow restless and looked around for something, anything, that would hold her attention. When she glanced at Awidan's tent, she saw that finally the old shakh and the slaver were embracing, kissing each other on both cheeks as they gave their elaborate farewells. "They seem to have made their peace since yesterday," she thought. "Perhaps the gift of the slave boy helped smooth the troubled waters."<br/><br/>Leaving the shakh's tent, Esarhaddon walked towards his waiting men, where a servant boy held his mare. After exchanging greetings, the slaver swung his leg over the cantle of his saddle and settled comfortably onto the seat. He pressed his heels to his horse's sides and rode Ka'adara to the head of the entourage, where Ubri and Ganbar filed in behind him with their charges in tow. Making up the rear of the column were Inbir and the string of pack horses. A smile of satisfaction upon his face, his eyes half-hidden by his kohl-rimmed lids, Esarhaddon glanced back at the twins and then gave the command to move forward.<br/><br/>About two miles outside the city, they passed a patrol of cavalrymen. Other than a nod of greeting to Esarhaddon by the officer in charge, the patrol barely took notice of them. Once again Elfhild observed that the shakh was on exceptionally good terms with the military of the conquering force. At one time, that knowledge would have been a cause of great concern to the sisters, for any ally of the Dark Lord was an enemy of theirs. Though the concept still made them feel uncomfortable, they were gradually growing to accept his allegiance to the Dark Land. There was nothing they could do about it anyway. They were subjects of Mordor, after all.<br/><br/>By late afternoon, the party neared the outskirts of Osgiliath, the abandoned city of the Gondorians, with its crumbling walls and memories of past glories that now lay in melancholy shambles. There, the riders met a company of uruks, big, surly creatures who passed by silently, looking neither to the right nor to the left. As the uruks marched by, the twins dropped their gazes, both glad for the concealing hoods of their burnooses.<br/><br/>When the pontoon bridge over the Anduin came into sight, the Sun was a huge smoldering ball of fire hanging low in the sky over the distant mountains. The dipping orb trailed her long fingers of rose and gold across the heavens as though she were painting the sky in splendor before saying goodbye to the dying day. Rising from the foothills of Ithilien, the Mountains of Shadow climbed higher and higher until they towered above them, brooding in their dark majesty. A deep notch ran between the tall peaks and led upward into the folds of shadows. Both mountain and hill bowed to the river which ran through the narrow valley, the sloping landforms from a distance resembling the interlaced fingers of a giant, clasped in supplication before some great deity.<br/><br/>The majestic Anduin, indomitable in its austere strength, lay before the sisters like an endless sea which, once traversed, could never be crossed again. Stony cold it seemed, indifferent to the anguish of mankind, unheeding, unseeing, unsympathetic as it wound its way to the Sea. To the south of the pontoon bridge spread the mouth of a smaller, but no less impressive, river: the Morgulduin. Wisps of fog rose from its dark waters, the misty vapors converging about the confluence of the two rivers like the seething brew in a witch's cauldron. As the twins looked towards the lesser river, they had the peculiar sensation that they were somehow peering into another world, a realm which was removed from time and reality. The ethereal mists shifted and undulated, the vapors taking the forms of men, beasts and monsters, a dancing menagerie which glided and played across the surface of the water before being ripped into tatters by the breeze and evaporating like mirages. When the twins turned their gazes back to their guards, it seemed that they had been staring at the Morgulduin for hours, but in reality the vision of the river had held them captive for only a few seconds.<br/><br/>The entourage drew rein at a grim, squat structure which guarded the approach to the pontoon bridge. Two guards strode out of the building and stepped onto the road. "Halt!" they commanded, crossing their spears and barring the way. A flinty eyed, dark-skinned man, a corporal by his insignia, swaggered from the guard station and stared at them. "Papers?" he inquired, his nose wrinkling up and twitching as though he had smelled something unsavory.<br/><br/>Ganbar leaned towards Elfhild and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "Filthy Khandians!" She sent him a questioning look, but he only frowned and shook his head.<br/><br/>As the grim-faced guards looked on, Ubri handed the lead line of Elffled's horse to Ganbar and rode forward past the shakh. Dismounting before the corporal, he bowed and presented him with the requested documents. The man leafed through the sheaf of papers, his quick eyes scanning each page until he came to one which captured his attention. He read the document over several more times before staring over the page at Ubri.<br/><br/>"You are Ubri uMandum, agent of Shakh Esarhaddon uHuzziya, yes?"<br/><br/>"Aye, I am he," replied Ubri, his face expressionless. <br/><br/>At the mention of his name, Esarhaddon gave a quick nod and moved his horse a few steps forward. "Corporal, you surely must remember us! We passed through here not more than two weeks ago."<br/><br/>"Yes, my lord, I remember you. You must understand that this is merely a technical formality which is required of everyone who crosses the river. Ever since that elf berserker slaughtered the entire garrison of Cirith Ungol back in the spring, security has been tight. Rules are rules, and I must abide by them," the corporal explained in the same flat, businesslike tone which he used with all who requested permission to cross the bridge. His eyes dropped to the papers once again. "These other men are Captains Ganbar and Inbir?"<br/><br/>"Aye," came Ubri's equally flat monotone.<br/><br/>The corporal looked up sharply. "Where is the slave boy Ásal? He was brought into the occupied territory with you."<br/><br/>Ubri looked to Esarhaddon for direction, and was grateful when the slaver replied for him. "The eunuch was given to Shakh Awidan, and all papers applying to him are now in the shakh's possession."<br/><br/>"Very well." The corporal seemed satisfied with the answer. The man reshuffled the documents, reading through them a second time. His eyes skimmed across the papers, as though he were searching for errors. "Lord uHuzziya, these papers state that you have in your possession two slave women, twins by name of Elfhild and Elffled of Rohan, who bear the Numbers 99337-GER1E03 and 99338-GER2E03. I see they had escaped recently and were recaptured a few days ago. Though I am sure that the information contained here is truthful and accurate, and these are indeed the aforementioned slaves, still I am compelled by the rules and regulations governing the traffic of Mordor-owned slaves to request inspection of their collars."<br/><br/>"Easily arranged." Esarhaddon's eyes slitted threateningly, and the corporal's eyes darted back to the papers in his hand. Quickly dismounting, the slaver walked over to the side of Elffled's horse and looked up into the girl's fearful eyes. "Do not be frightened; no one will harm you. Swing your right leg over the pommel and slide straight down. Raise your arms up and I will catch you."<br/><br/>Elffled took a deep breath and pivoted her leg so that she sat sideways on the horse. Hesitating a moment, she looked down at him and saw that he was grinning. Shyly dropping her gaze, she slid off the saddle and into Esarhaddon's waiting arms. For a few moments, he held her in his strong grasp, the hard muscles of his chest pressing against her breasts, his face very close to hers.<br/><br/>"Now remember you are no longer in Rohan. Do not think to impress the corporal with glances bold and saucy, for he will take you for a tawdry tavern wench and treat you accordingly. Conduct yourself modestly and keep in mind that this will be good experience for you when you are exhibited on the auction block. Keep your voice soft and demure and your eyes averted while he examines your collar," he murmured softly as he stroked her soft cheek with his knuckles. The day had been a hot one and he smelled of sweat and saddle leather, strong masculine aromas mixing with pungent spices and the lingering scent of mint tea.<br/><br/>"Y-yes, my lord," she stammered. "But the thought of being sold on the auction block frightens me."<br/><br/>"Perhaps your master will be a kind man. You should be flattered; it is certain that he will have to be a rich one to be able to purchase a little beauty like you," Esarhaddon chuckled. As his dark eyes gazed into hers, he bent his head. She tensed, afraid for a moment that he would command her lips in a kiss just as hateful as those of Daungha, but his full, sensual lips parted slightly, then curled into a condescending smile. He gripped her by the shoulders and spun her around to face the corporal. <br/><br/>Her back straight, her head bowed slightly, Elffled endured Esarhaddon's touch as he pushed back her hood and tugged the neck of her tunic down to expose her collar fully. "Raise your head," he ordered. Closing her eyes, she leaned her neck back and steeled herself for the inspection.<br/><br/>The corporal leaned down, squinting, and compared the number on the collar with the one on the document. "Number 99338-GER2E03, aye, that number agrees with the records. She may pass. Let me see the next one."<br/><br/>After helping Elffled back into the saddle, Esarhaddon presented Elfhild to the corporal. "Number 99337-GER1E03, aye," the officer noted as he inspected her collar. "Now give me a few minutes to record this information on my records and sign some documents, and you will be free to go."<br/><br/>Soon returning with the papers, signed duly with his signature, the corporal presented them to Ubri and motioned the party forward towards the bridge. "You may cross. The officer on the other side will want to look at the papers, but all that it will take to pass his inspection will be a glance at my signature." The two guards dropped their spears to their sides and stepped aside. Esarhaddon mounted his horse, and with a jaunty wave to the three guards, he led the party down the bank and onto the bridge.<br/><br/>Elfhild's horse, though usually calm and placid, balked when its hooves touched the uncertain footing on the pontoon bridge. Ganbar cursed the horse and gave a sharp tug to its halter rope. A slap across the flanks from Inbir caused the stubborn mount to surge forward suddenly, almost careening into the rump of Esarhaddon's mount and sending Elfhild reeling back in the saddle. <br/><br/>"So much for the vaunted horsemanship of the Rohirrim," Ganbar snorted. "She can barely stay in the saddle!"<br/><br/>"I could ride much better if my hands were not tied," Elfhild spat out, clenching her legs tighter around the horse's sides. <br/><br/>"Perhaps you will have an opportunity to prove that someday," Esarhaddon called back over his shoulder, "if you do not fall off and break your neck first!" Laughing, he urged his mare into a trot. Her hooves clattered across the boards as she stepped high, for she did not like the uncertainty of the structure beneath her feet.<br/><br/>Passing over the floating bridge, they arrived at the guardhouse on the other side. Once again, an officer asked to see their papers, and after skimming over them, he motioned them ahead.<br/><br/>As the setting sun turned the Anduin into blood, Elfhild looked back over her shoulder, taking a long, wistful look at the lands across the river. Her old home lay to the west in faraway Rohan. Her new home was to be somewhere on the other side of the mountains. Ahead of them lay the foothills of Ithilien, and far in the distance she could see the hazy dark shapes of the Mountains of Shadow. Maybe somewhere in those hidden mists, the trees budded with the promise of fruit, the green grass still grew, and bees returned to their hives with their legs drenched in yellow pollen from blooming flowers. As she gazed up at the mountains, she had the urge to explore these strange and mysterious lands, to climb the slopes and gather bouquets of wildflowers. The cold, fog-enshrouded waters of the Morgulduin called to some part of her soul which she did not yet understand, and she longed to walk along the river's banks and dance with the phantoms of the mist...<br/><br/>With each plodding step of the horses, the Anduin lay further and further behind the twins. At last the girls had arrived in the unknown East - where now lay their future... and their fears.</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. The Other Side of the River</h2></a>
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    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild<br/><br/>The pontoon bridge and the guard house some distance behind them now, the riders urged their mounts into a canter. The men did not slow the horses down until they were well into the trees of once fair Ithilien, where Esarhaddon called a halt to rest the horses. Scowling, he turned in the saddle and surveyed the trail behind them. Ubri moved his horse beside his lord's, tugging Elffled's mount along with him. Their voices low undertones, the two men spoke together in Haradric, each one occasionally glancing over his shoulder at the twins. Stroking his beard thoughtfully, the slaver nodded to Ubri, then touched his heels to his horse's sides and moved the animal forward to the head of the entourage. Ganbar jerked on the lead rope of Elfhild's horse, urging the animal into a canter as he rode up beside Ubri. As Elffled's horse came abreast of her sister's, the two girls exchanged questioning glances, both wondering at the subject of the men's conversation, and fearing that it might be them.</p><p>Ever since crossing the Anduin, Elfhild's mood had turned gloomy. She knew that there was no going back now. Any hope of escape was lost, and even if a rare opportunity did chance to arise, she was not sure if she still had the will to try again. Perhaps it was better just to accept her fate, to stop fighting and accept slavery. If she had not tried to escape, poor old Tarlanc would still be alive, working at his mill and enjoying the company of his beloved dog, Haun. For that matter, if her father and brother had never joined the fight against Mordor, they would still be alive as well. If her mother had surrendered to the orcs instead of trying to defend her home, she, too, would still be counted among the living. Loathsome though it was, Elfhild was coming to the unfortunate conclusion that perhaps defying the might of Mordor was a very bad idea…</p><p>Seeing that her sister was weeping softly, Elffled turned towards her and whispered in Rohirric, "What is wrong? Why are you crying?"<br/><br/>"After all the horrible things that have happened to us since this war began, I am filled with grief!" Elfhild sobbed. "Our parents and brother are all dead, and everything we have ever known is now lost to us! Crossing that river was like closing a door which can never be opened again! I am sad, Elffled, grieved and sad, and afraid of what is to come!"<br/><br/>"Hild, I am sad, too, and just as frightened as you." Elffled managed a weak smile. Oh, how she wished she could hug her sister at that moment, take her in her arms and hold her close in a protective embrace! <br/><br/>"To make matters even worse, we are alone and at the mercy of a man who considers us as troublemakers and rebels." Elfhild's voice rose high and shrill as she wailed. "He has already threatened to kill us, and I fear that he may yet plan to punish us for running away!"<br/><br/>Elffled was about to reply when Ubri turned in the saddle and cut her words off with a harsh rebuke, "You wenches act as though you were still in Rohan, always muttering to each other in that accursed language! What are you doing, plotting some mischief?" He paused, glaring into their fear-stricken faces. "If you are, you might as well forget it! There will be no escape for you this time."<br/><br/>"We were planning nothing, sir," Elfhild pronounced coldly, her eyes glittering with angry tears.</p><p> <br/>"Well, from now on, I want to hear no more talk in Rohirric. Speak in Westron so that we may understand what you are saying! I am sick of hearing your barbarous tongue. If you cannot speak in Westron, then keep silent, or I will have you both gagged!" Ubri shot her a look so sour that it could have curdled fresh milk.<br/><br/>"But we do not know Westron very well, sir," Elffled protested. "We are fortunate to know as much as we do only because our village was close to the Gondorian border."<br/><br/>"Deplorably ignorant little savages!" Ubri growled, his eyes clouding with anger as he looked back at them.<br/><br/>"Sooner or later, they must learn to speak our native language, and several others as well," Inbir remarked solemnly, forgetting for a moment his daydreams about Aeffe. "There is no better time than now to begin."<br/><br/>The sun was slowly sinking behind the western mountains as they rode deeper into Ithilien. The afterglow remained for some minutes, painting the sky in vibrant colors before the valley was plunged into dismal gray shadows. They were still on the outskirts of the Anduin valley; the land had not yet begun to rise and follow the course which the misty river had carved through the hills. Off into the trees, dilapidated cottages and old stone ruins peered out at them like silent sentinels, possessing secrets of the past. A multitude of insects hummed in the trees, and frogs croaked along the many small streams which trickled sluggishly down from the hills and mountains.<br/><br/>The small entourage had ridden another half mile when Esarhaddon led them off the main road and onto a winding path which ran into the woods. Coming to a sheltered clearing in the midst of a grove of mixed hardwoods and evergreens, Esarhaddon called a halt for the night, and the men set about making camp. Guarded by Ubri, the twins were left to sit their horses and wait while Ganbar went to the packs and retrieved a rug and two small brass oil lanterns - part of the gifts from the largess of Shakh Awidan. After lighting the lamps, he went to the area which had been set aside for the horses and hung a lantern from a low branch. The other he chained to a limb of a spreading plane tree about thirty feet away from the picket line and spread the rug beneath it.<br/><br/>After he and Ganbar had helped the girls dismount, they unbound their hands and escorted them to the plane tree. Ordering them to sit down and keep out of the way, the two bodyguards left them, going to tend their own horses and those of their charges. From their well-lit spot, Elfhild and Elffled watched as a picket line was quickly set up between two ash trees.<br/><br/>"Elfhild," her sister whispered to her, "with all this light, I feel as conspicuous as I would if we were standing naked in the village square! Do you feel as though we are on display?"<br/><br/>"While I do not like to think of it that way, I suppose that we are," Elfhild replied glumly. "They have lit up this whole area so that they can better see to guard us. They are taking no chances on our escaping this time, are they?"</p><p>"Well, they have no need to worry about that on my part." Elffled crossed her arms over her chest and glared pointedly at her sister.</p><p>Elfhild sensed her sister's displeasure with her and felt a pang of guilt. Choosing to ignore Elffled's remark, she scooted closer to her sister and dropped her voice to a whisper. "Elffled, there is something I must tell you. I would have told you sooner, but this is the first time we have been allowed to talk with each other for any length of time."</p><p>Elffled turned questioning eyes to her twin. "What is it?"</p><p>Elfhild looked around to make sure that no one was listening in to their conversation. Even though Ubri had forbidden them from speaking in their native tongue, he was not close enough to hear them, and Elfhild felt it best to talk in a language which the Southrons did not understand. "Our wine has been drugged the past two nights. I overheard Esarhaddon talking about it last night when he was taking his pleasure with two of the slave women back at Minas Tirith."</p><p>Elffled blanched, appalled by this revelation. "Oh, that is terrible!" A sad little sigh escaped her lips. "They really do hold complete power over us, do they not?" Her brow furrowed and she paused for a moment, as though contemplating some weighty matter. "Well, the food and wine we are given at supper might be drugged, but at least they are feeding us. They could starve us, you know. Feed us nothing but stale crusts of bread and thimblefuls of stagnant water."</p><p>"Oh, Elffled, it grieves my heart to hear you say these words, but, alas, I fear they are true." Elfhild shook her head in dismay. "We truly are at their mercy."</p><p>Hugging her arms around her legs, Elffled rested her chin upon her knees and watched the men caring for the horses. Though she had never imagined that one day she would become a thrall of her enemies, sent to labor as a slave in a foreign land, it seemed that these miserable circumstances were to be her lot in life. But then she started wondering… what if <em>she</em> were the one in power, and these Southrons were <em>her</em> slaves? While her sister and she were powerless against Esarhaddon and his men, at least in her mind she could have dominion over them. The corners of her mouth curled up in a calculating smile as she pretended that she was a rich buyer at a slave auction.</p><p>She imagined all four of her captors standing upon a stage, forcibly stripped to the waist so their muscular torsos and arms would be exhibited to the best advantage. As she studied each one, she would compare his physical attributes to the other men's. Then when the bidding started and the men looked over at her with pleading eyes, yearning for her to buy them, she would select one or two who struck her fancy. After their purchase, these fortunate two would fawn upon her, lavishing her with attention and answering her every extravagant whim. At this delightful thought, Elffled bit her lip and held her breath to suppress a giggle. She did not want Elfhild knowing about her outrageous fantasy.<br/><br/>All of the Southrons were bearded save for Ganbar, who sported a mustache upon his tawny face. Although each one was a fine-looking man in his own way, only two could be considered exceptionally handsome. While the sight of his wide shoulders and narrow hips might make many girls gasp in admiration, Ubri's heavy features appeared perpetually sullen, even hostile. He seldom smiled and his brow was scored deeply by an almost constant frown, giving the impression that his temper was quick and fiery, and if he were crossed, he would prove a fierce, desperate foe.<br/><br/>His temples and mustache silvered with gray, Ganbar, the eldest of the Southern slavers, was lean and tall, towering above the other men by several inches. The narrow bridge of his long, thin, hooked nose separated his close-set dark brown eyes and perched above his tight lips. There was a dark brown mole on the left of his chin, which did nothing to improve his looks. In spite of his close-set eyes, Ganbar could at least have been called pleasant in appearance if it were not for his prominent ears. A golden earring dangled from his right lobe, and rather than accentuating his stronger features, it only called attention to his conspicuous ears. Large and protruding, his ears reminded Elffled of those on the enormous gray beasts that she had seen among the invading force; mûmaks, the Southrons called them.</p><p>The twins knew nothing about him, but Ganbar was a frugal man who had always been prudent with his earnings, never squandering his substance in drinking, wenches, and riotous living. Over the years, he had managed to save enough that he was able to loan his brothers the money to set up a small stall in the souk of Sangkur, a port city on the southeastern tip of the Haradric peninsula. As his brothers had prospered, they had been able to repay the loan with interest.<br/><br/>A large, powerfully built man with broad shoulders, thick chest, and muscular, brawny arms, Esarhaddon was the heaviest of the four Southrons. He had the lazy, indolent look of a man who preferred the pleasures of luxurious living to the more rigorous pursuits of fowling and hunting. His dark brown eyes, often half veiled beneath heavy, drooping lids, appraised everything with a critical and calculating gaze. He lived as though he were sultan of the whole world and everyone was his servant. Though Elffled could not deny that he was a darkly exotic and intriguing man whose commanding presence could make many a maiden swoon, he carried far too much weight for her ever to consider him as truly handsome.      <br/><br/>Yet the thought of the powerful slaver groveling at her feet as a lowly slave was truly a delicious one. While she reclined luxuriously upon silken brocade pillows and cushions, he would be forced to wait upon her hand and foot, bringing her every delicacy that she craved. When he had pleased her, she would pat him upon the head and stroke his dark curls as she would a pet dog or cat, and call him those petty terms of endearment that the Southrons were so fond of using.<br/><br/>Inbir, the beautiful one, would be seated on a cushion beside her chair, looking up adoringly at her, his soft, luminous eyes glowing with love. Strumming upon his lute, he would sing songs that he had composed for her, haunting, lovely melodies which extolled her beauty and grace. While she would require Esarhaddon to perform more menial tasks, such as grooming her favorite horse or holding the animal while she mounted, she would demand nothing more of Inbir, save that he keep her entertained with his music and poetry. She was certain that she could be quite content to spend her whole life listening to him sing and play while she watched his dark eyes close in ecstasy as he sang his heart out for her. Of course, both Inbir and Esarhaddon would love and idolize her, worshiping the ground where her shadow had touched. Occasionally, she would deign to reward one of them with a light kiss upon the forehead. <br/><br/>Certainly each slave would become jealous of the other, but that was so much for the better, for their envy would only make them that much more eager to please her. Then, if she ever found a good man who was worthy of her, she would marry him, but she would not cast aside her loyal servants. Nay, she would hold them just as dear to her heart as she did when she had first obtained them. She would wind her husband so tightly about her finger that he would become a slave of love, and so in that sense, there would really be three doting slaves to serve her, rather than only two. After all, since the men of the South could have many women, why could not a woman have her own gardens of delight filled with strong, handsome men who lived to please her every whim?<br/><br/>While in her mind she might be able to make the men of the enemy suffer for every harsh deed which they had dealt her, every cruel and cutting word, in reality Elffled was overpowered and outnumbered, a weak and helpless slave at their mercy. She could amuse herself by imagining that she had power over them, but in truth she trembled with fear in their presence.<br/><br/>By the time Elffled had pushed these vain imaginings from her mind, the guards had finished caring for the horses for the night and turned their attentions to the camp. Nearby Esarhaddon and Ubri were involved with one of their usual private discussions, talking quietly in their own language. The twins could hear Ganbar as he rummaged through one of the packs, and Inbir, who hummed to himself as he built a campfire. Preoccupied with their own pursuits, none of them paid the slightest bit of attention to the twins.<br/><br/>Weary from the day's journey, the men were concerned with little save food, drink and rest. While the presence of the two fair maidens stirred their hot blood, the guards knew that both were out of their reach. If any of them should touch one of the captive slave women, he would be lucky if all he lost was his manhood. Part of a larger consignment of slaves bound for the land of Nurn and under the protection of Esarhaddon, the twins would be put on the public auction block, as per the Mordorian laws. They might be bought by a lord who wanted slave girls to warm his bed or work in his household, or their purchaser could be a private dealer who would train them and then resell them for a higher price.<br/><br/>Whichever the case, their new owner would most likely pay an exorbitant price for them. Those lords who had been granted the right to operate factories and huge farms often did not purchase slaves, but rented them from Mordor on an annual basis. However, those who wished finer quality slaves for their households were quick to pay for the privilege of owning them, if anything was really owned in Nurn. In truth and in practice, the Dark Lord owned everything and everyone in that sad land. None of Esarhaddon's men gave much thought to such matters, which were the concern of rich merchants and lords, and not simple men who were descended from nomadic herders.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. A Lesson in Protocol</h2></a>
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    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild<br/><br/>After concluding his discussion with Captain Ubri, Esarhaddon jauntily strode back to the rug where the twins were sitting, clasped his hands behind his back, and looked down at them. "Rise to your feet, slave girls," he ordered. "Slaves are always to rise in the presence of their master or mistress." He watched as the two frightened sisters hastily stood up and looked at him with uncertainty. "Keep your eyes downcast in the presence of your superiors! No sullen looks, and do not let your arms dangle aimlessly at your sides! Clasp your hands at your waists!"</p><p>"As you command, my lord." Elfhild straightened her back and dropped her gaze to look at her hands as she folded them. She wondered how she and her sister had displeased the Southron this time.  </p><p>Folding his arms across his broad chest, Esarhaddon glanced over to Inbir, who was boiling water for tea over a small fire. He watched him for a few moments before turning back to the girls. "Under usual circumstances, there would no necessity for slaves of your rank to do menial work, for it is the lesser servants who tend to such matters. However, now that the slave boy Ásal is no longer in my service, I shall assign some of his duties to you." Seeing the surprised expressions on the girls' faces, he chuckled. "Surely you did not think that my men and I would wait upon you!"</p><p> <br/>"No, of course not, my lord," Elffled giggled nervously. Oh, if only the slaver knew the fantasies she had been having in which she was the mistress and he was her slave! She was exceedingly glad that the man did not possess the power to divine thoughts.<br/><br/>"Since neither of you has been trained as servants, I have assigned the task of your instruction to Ganbar until we rejoin the rest of the caravan." Esarhaddon turned away from them and looked towards the fire, where Inbir had just finished brewing tea and was pouring the scalding hot liquid into small green glasses. "Ah," he sighed, smiling, "the tea is ready. You tarry here too long; Ganbar awaits you near the horses. Go," he dismissed them with a wave of his hand. "Perhaps if you perform well, he will not beat you." Esarhaddon laughed as they scurried away. He sat down on the rug and waited for Inbir and the tea.<br/><br/>Ganbar leaned against a young oak and gave the twins a brief nod as they presented themselves to him. "You know me as Ganbar, and you will discover that I am a man of few words and blunt-spoken." He looked them over for a while and then shook his head. "There are some things you have to understand right from the very beginning. All during the journey this afternoon, you chattered between yourselves in the barbarous language of Rohan. From now on, that must stop! Speak only in Westron." His forehead creased in deep wrinkles as he scowled at them fiercely. "You incurred the Shakh's displeasure with your rude behavior. Never speak that infernal language again, or there will be punishments!" He studied their faces until he seemed satisfied that they looked frightened enough, and then he allowed his expression to relax. <br/><br/>"Now," he continued, tapping his fingertips together, "the two of you are probably lazy and incapable of learning very much, but you need to put yourselves to it or things will go hard for you. I realize that you were both born in an ignorant land of wild tribesmen, and there was no way that you could have been taught correctly." Ganbar scratched absentmindedly at a swollen welt below his lower lip, where he had been bitten by some insect. "There is a strict system of decorum you should have been taught when you were first captured, but that was the time when you decided to run away. Now you will have to learn it from me. If you learn quickly, it will spare me the trouble of having to whip you." Ganbar had an unpleasant habit of staring at them for long moments and saying nothing. The girls found this intimidating, and they wondered if at any moment he might lose his temper and really whip them. <br/><br/>After a particularly long silence, Ganbar reached down and picked up a small branch and snapped it in two. The girls jumped at the sharp sound. Ganbar smiled as he used one of the lengths to scratch his back. "From now on you are never to call your superiors by their given names. You are a slave and you will refer to men either as 'Master' or 'my lord,' and women as 'Mistress,' or 'my lady,' depending upon your rank and their station in life. I am Master Ganbar.'" He looked at Elfhild. "What am I called?"<br/><br/>Clasping her hands tightly at her waist and staring down at her toes, Elfhild attempted to keep her face as expressionless as possible. "If a dull, bland look is what they want," she told herself, "that is what I will give them." An attempt at holding her face totally impassive, her eyes vacant and her jaws slack, resulted in the urge to giggle. She bit the inside of her jaw to keep the laughter from escaping. "You are called Master... Master." <br/><br/>"Very good, slave girl." Ganbar turned from her to Elffled. "Now you seem to be the brighter one and learn quicker. How are you to address me?" He stroked his beard as he studied her.<br/><br/>"Master Ganbar, we are to call you 'Master,'" Elffled returned sweetly, somehow managing to keep her face expressionless. She considered this whole dialogue idiotic, but she would tell him whatever he wanted to hear just so long as she kept out of trouble.<br/><br/>"Elffled - that is your name, I believe - you did far better than your sister, who mumbles in such a dull, tedious monotone that I scarce could hear her. Raise your head, Elffled, and come stand in front of me. Then turn and face your sister. Try to walk gracefully, girl, and not like a lumbering cow on her way to the barn, her milk sack flopping with each step." <br/><br/>"Yes, Master, I will try," she murmured as she walked towards him, careful to keep her gait fluid and not shuffle her feet. When she reached him, she turned around slowly to face Elfhild, wincing when she felt his hands clamp down on her shoulders. <br/><br/>"Did you learn anything from that, Elfhild?" He arched an eyebrow expectantly.<br/><br/>"Yes, Master, I have."<br/><br/>"And what is that?" he asked eagerly.<br/><br/>"If I wish not to walk like a cow, I should study my sister, Master," Elfhild replied, her tone dulcet.<br/><br/>Elffled, who stood with her back towards Ganbar, crossed her eyes, wrinkled her nose, and stuck her tongue out at her sister, safe in the knowledge that the guard could not see her face. Not daring to retaliate, Elfhild clenched her hands together so tightly that her fingers turned red and her knuckles turned white.<br/><br/>"What does she mean?" Ganbar asked himself. "Is she implying that she should avoid walking like her sister, because she walks like a cow, or is she saying that her sister should be imitated, because she does not walk like a cow? Neither these girls nor I know Westron that well, but they are better with it than I am. Perhaps something has been lost in translation." Puzzled, Ganbar decided that questioning the girl would confuse matters even more, so he pretended that he understood.<br/><br/>"Yes, excellent; you should study your sister so that you will not make mistakes." He looked down to Elffled and squeezed her shoulders. "You may now go back to stand beside Elfhild." He gave her a little push on the back.<br/><br/>When both girls were standing in front of him again, he clapped his hands together, startling them. "That was to get your attention. Whenever I clap my hands, you are to cease whatever you are doing and come immediately to me." He shifted his weight slightly and returned to tapping his fingertips together. "Now that you both have learned the proper terms of address, you must remember that you are always to speak in a soft, sweet, melodious voice. Never talk too loud and never laugh in the presence of your betters. That is considered quite rude. Both of you have very pretty voices, by the way," he complimented them, "but, Elfhild, you have a tendency to sound moody and sullen. You will correct that."<br/><br/>"Yes, Master," Elfhild chirped in a voice which sounded far too cheery to be sincere.<br/><br/>Nodding, Ganbar reached for the waterskin which was stored in the fork of the tree behind him and took a drink of the lukewarm liquid. "Now that you have learned the proper way to address your superiors, you will learn how to perform acceptable obeisance. When you are in the presence of your superiors, you will bow respectfully from the waist, keeping your eyes downcast, your hands at your middle. That is simple," he laughed. "I do not think you will have any trouble remembering that. <br/><br/>"Now this is very important, and you must not forget anything that I tell you, for it concerns your master!" He crossed his hands over his chest and looked imposing. "When the Shakh approaches, you will immediately kneel and touch your forehead to the ground and remain there until he gives you leave to rise. When you are summoned to him, you are to walk into the room, halt ten paces from the Shakh, and bow from the waist. There you will stand with your head bowed and your hands clasped to your waist until he calls you to him." Ganbar again reached for the waterskin and slaked his thirst before continuing. "The only exception to this protocol is when you are serving food or drink. Obviously, you cannot bow or kneel with a tray in your hands." He scratched his back up and down on the oak tree. <br/><br/>"There are many things for you to learn and you cannot learn them all in one day, but you will at least learn how to serve the Shakh his meals while on the trail," Ganbar remarked, absentmindedly rubbing his earring. "Tonight you are to assist in serving supper. Since we made camp so late, the meal tonight will be plain." He took another deep drink from the skin, wiped off his mouth on the back of his hand and closed the vessel. "I suppose you two know how to cook." He gave them a questioning look, and the twins nodded enthusiastically, proud of their cooking skills. "Ah, I see you do. Good! Tomorrow evening, you will be preparing the meal under my direction. Your duties tonight will be simple, however."<br/><br/>When Captain Ubri had given him the task of instructing the twins, Ganbar had been hesitant. Teaching slave girls had never been part of his duties. In the harem of a wealthy lord, the Mistress of the Harem or the eunuchs would have that responsibility, and Ganbar hardly fit either of those two categories. "Captain, what should I tell them? I know nothing about how to detail the duties of slave women to ignorant peasants. I am a guard!" he had protested to Ubri.</p><p> </p><p>"Nobody expects you to give them a complete treatise on slavery," Ubri had explained. "Just show them where the food and utensils are and give them the basics of etiquette and protocol. If they possess any wit at all, they can figure out the rest. Regard it as evidence of the Shakh's continuing confidence in you."<br/><br/>"Captain, I am unsure of this. Sometimes my tongue has difficulty saying the right words," Ganbar had muttered, but in the end, he had grudgingly obeyed his orders. Born a son of a poor Sangkur fisherman who had far more children than he had the resources to feed and clothe them, Ganbar had gone to work with his father on the family's fishing boat when he was very young. At the age of eight, he had known that the sea was no life for him, and at the age of thirteen, he secured employment with a caravan which was leaving for the west the next day. He had left the caravan after two years, and, always restless, he had roamed from one place to another.<br/><br/>Occasionally settling for a short time in one small village or another, he had taken whatever jobs he could find until one day he arrived at the great city of Turkûrzgoi. After the solitude of wandering, the large city with its throngs of people, its mighty fortress, great buildings, temples, and markets had impressed him, and he decided to stay there and look for work. Eventually, he had found employment as a night watchman at the immense slave market of the House of Huzziya. By the time he had worked there for five years, he had so impressed Esarhaddon uHuzziya with his conscientious and loyal service that the Shakh had made him one of his bodyguards. When Esarhaddon had offered him the opportunity to go on one of the very first slave buying missions to Gondor, he had never hesitated in accepting. He had come a long way from his days as the son of a poor fisherman, and he was determined to continue improving his lot in life.<br/><br/>The clear voice of Elfhild brought an end to his reverie. "Master, what are our duties? I understand that we are to serve supper to the men."<br/><br/>"Aye, that is correct," Ganbar told them. "Before you begin serving, however, there are a few things you need to know. Shakh Esarhaddon's mercantile house supplies food and medicine for the men and horses. You will find the packs containing the food over there." He pointed to several large bundles. "Each man provides his own eating utensils, waterskin, rug and bedding, weapons and clothing and other personal items. You are to touch neither the Shakh's property nor that of his men. You have permission to open the food packs only. Do you understand that?" he asked, and waited for the "Yes, Master" which quickly followed.<br/><br/>"You will follow me now." Ganbar reached into the fork of the tree for his waterskin and slung the strap over his shoulder. In the soft glow of the lamp hanging over the stable yard, he pointed out the food bundles to them. "Both of you will be responsible for unpacking the food and readying the communal plate from which all eat. With a meal like this - dried meat, hard bread, cheese and dried fruit - there is really little to do except cut up the dried meat and hard cheese. And, no," he allowed a small smile to filter over his lips, "if you have any ideas about taking the knife, you should forget it, for I will be watching you with the eyes of a falcon. Any questions?" He looked towards them. "No? Then we will proceed to the next matter.<br/><br/>"Before the meal is served, the two of you will take a ewer of water, a bowl and towels and go to each man, starting in order from the Shakh. One of you will hold the bowl while the other pours water over the man's hands so that he may wash the dirt of the trail from himself. Once each man has cleaned and dried himself, you will place the food tray upon the rug. After the meal is over, you will clean their hands again and clear the table. Of course, you are responsible for washing the dishes. I will be watching you all the time." Ganbar felt proud of himself. He was sure that he had forgotten nothing. "You need give no concern to the making of tea or coffee, for it is customary that men do that. That was one of the slave boy Ásal's responsibilities, but now he is gone and Inbir has been assigned his duties. That should be all. Do you have any questions?" Ganbar asked, absentmindedly scratching the welt on his chin.<br/><br/>"Master, I have one question," Elfhild spoke up. <br/><br/>"Yes, you may ask it," Ganbar replied, impatient to have them begin preparing the food.<br/><br/>"When do we eat, Master?"<br/><br/>His eyes were wide with surprise as he stared at them. "Surely you know the answer to such a question! Custom and common sense should have answered it for you." He looked at them and laughed. "Perhaps you do not know, however, since you are ignorant foreigners. You eat when slaves always do - after their superiors have finished eating!"</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Serving Master</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild<br/><br/>Hanging down from the low-spreading silvery branches of a plane tree, the brass lanterns cast a festive amber glow over the scene below. Awaiting their supper, Esarhaddon and his three lieutenants were seated cross-legged upon a large crimson rug adorned with gold medallions. Though the men's sense of humor and merriment seemed no less than on any other night, still Elfhild and Elffled sensed that there was a change in the underlying mood shared by the slaver's three lieutenants. The men seemed tenser, more serious, alert and on guard. Occasionally one of them glanced furtively into the dark shadows under the trees and just as quickly looked back at the fire, as though it was their only protection against some evil which lurked unseen in the forest. Esarhaddon, however, seemed perfectly at ease, comfortable and nonplussed. Amused at a joke told by Ubri, the slaver threw back his head, roaring with laughter and slapping his thigh in enthusiasm.<br/><br/>Despite all the merriment and mirth, the good cheer reached only as far as the circle of radiating light extended. Beyond the comforting circumference of the lanterns' glow, the trees lay all about them, heavy and somber. In places where the branches grew twisted and sullen, the dark growth seemed to be encroaching, and sometimes a glance at the forest gave one the uncanny sensation that the trees were not always in the same places they had been before. These sensations, of course, were but mere figments of the imagination, for it took trees years to grow, and they never moved of their own accord like men or animals. Of course, not one of the men would admit his unease to the others, for he knew that if he did, he would find himself the brunt of many scornful gibes.<br/><br/>Ubri, a man of common sense and practicality, much like the slaver himself, laughed off the vague sense of anxiety which troubled the far corners of his mind. This strange mood always came over the men whenever they recrossed the Anduin and approached the domain of the Dark Lord. There was no logical reason for this dread, however, for the House of Huzziya had paid the required monies and fees and held contracts which granted them the right of passage through these lands. <br/><br/>This unease was nothing more than the flickering memory of childhood fears, conjured up by rumors which brooded about the Haunted Valley like a cloud of squawking ravens. Every time Ubri passed through the vale, he tried not to think of the stories of ghûls and djinns and travelers who never returned, or of the shadowy figures which he sometimes saw for a brief instant on the periphery of his vision. It was a fear unworthy of a man, and he hated it, but at least he did not let it strip him of his senses, as happened to some travelers. Still, though, he was only a common man, and not possessed of the doughty fortitude of his lord, and could not help but feel a degree of intimidation. The fear was totally unfounded, though, he told himself.<br/><br/>Since the night of their capture in the Mark, being forced to camp every night in the woods was hardly a novel experience to the twins anymore, and they had spent many a dark and doleful night beneath the shadows of tall trees. Though they had been afraid then, it was not the forest itself which they feared, but rather their brutish captors. While the woods of Ithilien appeared much like all the other woods through which they had passed, there seemed to be an undercurrent of mystery about them, which began at some indefinite point in the east and radiated outward like ripples in a pond. <br/><br/>Indeed, ever since they had crossed the Anduin, both girls had sensed a change which they could not name or define, but which they knew was there. Elfhild had sensed it even before they completed the crossing of the Anduin, swirling in the vapors which steamed above the mouth of the misty river. While the war-devastated plains of Gondor exuded a dismal ambiance of utter barrenness and ruin, and the deserted city of Osgiliath was permeated by the neglect of years, this side of the Anduin had an aura of strangeness about it. Here the very air seemed alive, filled with some unseen presence which coated the trees, covered the ground, and clung chill and clammy to the skin. <br/><br/>As they prepared the food for supper, the twins often glanced towards the great plane tree with its cheery glowing lanterns. Even though the darkness seemed to press close, it was silly to be afraid, for there was only a short walk to where the men sat, enjoying their usual lively banter. If any threat from wild beast or orcs should arise, the Southrons would protect them, for they were all well-armed. Still Elffled felt compelled to look over her shoulder into the gloom several times, but she saw nothing more frightening than the luminescent yellowish green sheen of a glow worm which was creeping along the ground near her foot. Elfhild, occupied with slicing hard cheese, was momentarily startled when she heard the high, shrill "kee-ew" of an owl far away in the woods. A short while later when the little owl swooped above her head, she shrugged its unexpected appearance away, concluding that it was merely seeking its supper.<br/><br/>The twins found they were actually enjoying the simple, commonplace task of preparing a meal. If such work was all that was involved in servitude, then being a slave was not so very much worse than being a scullery maid in a thane's hall. Yet when Esarhaddon's languorous gaze oozed over their bodies as they went about their business, they felt the true helplessness of their condition. Unlike scullery maids, the twins were only property, chattel for wealthy Mordorians to buy, sell or trade.<br/><br/>Even though they were only lowly slaves, they could still show these wicked men of the South that their personalities remained intact and that they took pride in themselves and what they were. No matter that it was only the humble act of slicing and placing food on a tray, they would do their work neatly and efficiently. They would not turn to petty meanness just to spite the Southrons, and rather than haphazardly dumping the food on the tray and expecting the men to fish out what they wanted, the twins would arrange the food as tastefully as they would if it had been for a thane. To Elfhild, this act was a passive show of defiance, while Elffled strove to please her captors and earn what respect she could from them.<br/><br/>As each girl labored over the large cutting board, she determined that the tray would look as pleasing as any the slavers had ever beheld in the South. Their ideas on doing this differed, however, when it came to how the food would be arranged upon the platter. They had both agreed upon a starburst pattern, but they were at odds on how exactly to group the food into the rows which resembled the rays of the star.<br/><br/>"No, no, Elffled!" her twin whispered. "Do not put that piece of meat there! It looks out of place in that row of cheese!"<br/><br/>"I think it looks quite artistic, sister. See how the contrast in color makes the cheese stand out?" Elffled remarked as she added another slice of meat to the row.<br/><br/>"No, no!" Elfhild tossed her head in frustration, her voice rising higher. "It simply will not do! The meat should go elsewhere!"<br/><br/>Then, much to their chagrin, the irritated voice of Ubri interrupted their petty bickering. "What is taking you wenches so long? Are you going to be out there the rest of the night? Wash our hands now before I come over and speed you along!" <br/><br/>"Yes, yes, Master, we have prepared the food and now we are coming directly to wash your hands," Elfhild called apologetically over to the captain.<br/><br/>"See what you have done now by trying to destroy my work?" Elffled hissed through clenched teeth as she tossed a rind of meat at her sister, which struck her on the shoulder. "You have made the Captain angry at us!"<br/><br/>"Oh, yes, it is all my fault," Elfhild huffed as she covered the tray and set it aside. At least, she thought as she filled a silver ewer with water, the mundane normalcy of preparing food had taken their minds off their deplorable situation for a while.<br/><br/>In spite of Ganbar's instruction, the twins were anxious, uncertain of their new duties and how they should behave around these foreigners. Looking over to her sister, Elfhild watched as the lamplight caught the mixture of emotions that played over her face - anxiety, anticipation, fear, and finally grudging acceptance. Elfhild smiled encouragingly at her, and her twin managed a weak smile in return. Squeezing her sister's shoulder for comfort, Elffled took a deep breath, bowed her head, and stepped forward to walk beside Elfhild.<br/><br/>Her fingers curling around the slender curved handle of the ewer, Elfhild kept pace with the other girl, who bore a tray which held a large ceramic bowl and a stack of small hand cloths. As they approached the carpet where the Southrons were seated, their chins were tilted downward and their eyes were demurely averted. Kneeling gracefully at Esarhaddon's side, Elffled held the bowl under the slaver's hands while her sister poured scented water over them. Barely nodding at them, Esarhaddon cleansed his hands while continuing his discussion with Ubri, who sat across from him.<br/><br/>After the sisters had washed and dried the hands of all of the men, they rose fluidly to their feet and went to fetch the meal, moving as quietly and inconspicuously as small mice. Soon returning, Elfhild knelt and placed the platter of food in the center of the rug. Elffled had brought a stack of napkins which she had found in one of the packs and wordlessly handed each man a cloth to wipe his hands and mouth, or to soak up a spill if needed. When the girls were finished, they silently rose to their feet and backed away, waiting for further orders.<br/><br/>Esarhaddon looked down at the platter, an enigmatic smile touching the corners of his mouth. Then he tore off a piece of hard bread, poured a few drops of olive oil over it, added a piece of meat, and put the morsel in his mouth. This was the signal for his men to eat from the communal plate. Furtively watching the men from beneath averted eyes, the sisters stole sidelong glances at each other, wordlessly expressing their disappointment that no one seemed to appreciate their work.<br/><br/>"Ingrates," Elffled muttered under her breath. "We could have rubbed the food in the dirt before serving it to them! They would not have noticed!"<br/><br/>"They would have beaten us if we had," Elfhild whispered back knowingly.<br/><br/>Throughout the meal, the men had talked among themselves in their own language, ignoring the girls as though they were not even there. Only twice were the twins summoned, once when the supply of dried meat was running low, and another time when the dried fruit needed to be replenished. Not once were they given a friendly word, paid a compliment, or thanked for their service. The men did not even call them by their proper names, referring to them instead as "slave" or "wench." Hungry and offended, Elfhild and Elffled hoped that the horrid meal would soon be over, and they would be able to take their own supper in peace.<br/><br/></p><p>While the men sat at their ease and talked, the twins' duties were not yet finished. Returning to the storage area, they left the soiled reminders of the meal and fetched fresh water and towels for the Southrons to use to cleanse their hands. After attending to the other men, the girls went to Inbir, kneeling on either side of him. Elffled's heart quickened at the nearness of him, and suddenly she felt very shy and clumsy as she held the bowl beneath his hands. She fought the urge to look up at his handsome face, and instead studied his fingers as the water from the ewer cascaded over them. As she was drying him, her elbow accidentally collided with his arm. Tensing, she froze in place, frightened of punishment.<br/><br/>"Please forgive me, Master," she murmured softly, her head bowed. <br/><br/>"Clumsy slave!" Inbir looked up at her sharply. As his indignant eyes collided with her tear-filled ones, his offended glare gradually softened until the barest hint of a smile turned up the corners of his handsome lips. "Do not let it happen again!" Looking away from her, he turned to Esarhaddon, whose lazy, hooded eyes were unreadable. "Shakh, with your leave, I will go now to prepare more tea." Inbir's voice sounded hoarse as he excused himself.<br/><br/>Ganbar coughed. "You wenches may eat now," he told them in a low voice. Rising to his feet, he motioned for them to follow and then led them towards the storage area. "You may eat whatever is left upon the platter. Be quick about it, though, for you do not have much time. You still have the dirty trays, platter and utensils to wash in the stream."<br/><br/>The sisters looked down at the tray of picked over food, and Elffled made a face at the meager fare which remained. "We will never get fat eating these crumbs," she muttered, a scowl marring her lovely features. "I had hoped that the food among the Southrons would be better than this."<br/><br/>"What did you say?" Ganbar demanded suspiciously.<br/><br/>"Master Ganbar," Elffled returned sweetly, "I was merely remarking on how wonderfully filling this repast will be."<br/><br/>His face relaxing, Ganbar nodded. "It is good to see that you appreciate what you are given. Now do not waste any of it!"<br/><br/>"Oh, how could we, Master? There is so little of anything... that we do not like," Elffled simpered as she picked up a small, dried out raisin and made an elaborate ceremony of chewing the fruit. She congratulated herself on having had the wisdom to sample the food as she was preparing it, for in spite of the scant meal which they had been given, her belly felt reasonably full, though it could be fuller.<br/><br/>When the sisters had finished eating, Ganbar took a lantern and guided them to the stream bank. Never letting them out of his sight, he supervised them as they washed the dishes and later packed them away. "The Shakh has paid you both a great honor," he told them as they followed him back to the campfire. "He will allow you to stay and talk with him for a time before he retires."</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. The Music of Love and the Wine of Sleep</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>When Ganbar and the twins walked back into the circle of light, Esarhaddon had just turned his tea glass upside down on a small saucer, a signal to Inbir that he wished no more. "Excellent tea, Inbir! Brewed with just the right quantity of mint, neither too much nor too little," the Shakh complimented the young man. A pleased smile upon his face, Inbir inclined his head and placed the empty tea glass and saucer on a small brass tray before turning to Ubri.</p><p>"No more for me, Inbir. I need to be going to bed." Ubri rose to his feet. </p><p>"So soon?" Esarhaddon asked, a look of disappointment turning down the corners of his mouth. "I see there is no dissuading you, Captain Ubri. Then may your sleep be peaceful."</p><p>"And yours, my lord." Inclining his head, Ubri touched his right hand to his chest, then to his lips and last to his forehead. Then after wishing the other men a pleasant evening, he bowed again to the Shakh and backed away.</p><p>Covering his large mouth with his hand, Ganbar yawned prodigiously. "My lord, sleep calls to me with a seductive, sweet whisper, and so I will bid you goodnight," he announced as he rose to his feet. After performing the expected obeisance to the Shakh and extending his farewells to the men, he was on his way to his bedroll.</p><p>The tea tray in his hands, Inbir quietly excused himself, but the Shakh halted him with a raised hand. "Inbir, a moment! After you have packed away the tea making supplies, I would fancy hearing you play the oud."</p><p>"Certainly, my lord." Inbir's expressive eyes glowed with pleasure. "By your leave, I will put these things away and then return with my oud. Is there anything else you wish?"</p><p>"Ah, yes, there is another thing," Esarhaddon added, as though in an afterthought. "After you put away your tea set, fetch four cups and the bottle of that excellent vintage which Shakh Awidan presented me this morning. I would have you share a draught of that delicious wine with the little houris and me."</p><p>"No, none for me, my lord," Inbir shook his head, "but thank you for your consideration. I will return shortly with cups for you and the slave girls."</p><p>"May you return speedily, Inbir, for I have a great thirst for the wine and a craving to hear your music," the slaver urged as the young man took his leave.</p><p>As Elffled overheard the conversation, she felt a thrill of excitement. Inbir was going to play his splendid oud - that was what that wondrous instrument was called, an oud, an exotic name for the exotic lute of the South. Oh, she hoped that he would sing! She remembered his singing on the banks of the Anduin, and longed to hear him again. </p><p>Esarhaddon looked over to the girls, who had remained kneeling during this exchange. "My pretty little flowers, I am desirous of your company this night, and so I bid you approach me. Sit down, Elfhild on my right, and Elffled on my left." He smiled kindly at them as he patted the carpet. After the twins were seated beside Esarhaddon, the slaver gave a signal to Inbir, and the musician began to play an epic song about a youth who had been killed in battle.</p><p>"Inbir, what can I say?" Esarhaddon remarked as Inbir finished his first selection. "As always, your playing is hauntingly beautiful." Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply of his cup of wine. "Ah, wine and music! Who can extol their praises enough! As an illustrious poet once said, 'Without the love of wine and music, man is but half alive,' and, 'The man who shuns the beauties of music and who loathes the fruit of the grape will know little comfort when he grieves, nor will he have anything to increase his joy when he celebrates!'" He smiled softly. "But which of the two is the more beneficial, wine or music... Ah, the question is most perplexing."</p><p>"But my lord," Inbir remarked as he resumed his playing, his fingers once again lightly moving over the strings, "while the acclaimed poet is most correct in his estimations of the two, he neglected to mention a thing which is even more delightful than either while serving the purposes of both."</p><p>"Worthy Inbir, you pose me a riddle which I cannot solve. Tell me, what is the answer?" Esarhaddon's eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement.</p><p>"Woman, my lord," Inbir replied simply as he looked up from the oud and grinned, flashing his gleaming white teeth and setting Elffled's heart racing.</p><p>Esarhaddon chuckled in amusement at Inbir's answer. "While I concur with you that woman is more delightful than either wine or music, how is it that she can fulfill the purposes of both?" He leaned against Elfhild, his shoulder nudging against hers. Shifting her position, she pulled herself away from the slaver's unwelcome weight.</p><p>"Worthless Southron," Elfhild thought spitefully. "If he is too lazy to sit up, then he should lean against the tree, and not on me!"</p><p>"My lord Esarhaddon, here is the explanation of the riddle. When a man kisses a woman and sips of the ambrosia of her mouth, he can become giddy on that intoxicating taste."</p><p>"A veritable truth, Inbir." The slaver nodded, stroking his beard thoughtfully as he reflected on Inbir's words. "From my own experiences, I can agree with your observations, for truly a woman's sweet kisses can intoxicate a man, beguiling him until he loses his senses. I am both puzzled and intrigued, though, to understand how she is like an instrument."</p><p>"My lord, a woman is like an instrument in many ways," Inbir explained as he began playing a seductive melody. "Firstly, both are marvelous pieces of craftsmanship, created for the enjoyment of man. After the strings of the oud have been tuned to perfection, it will throb and vibrate in the hands of a skilled musician, and just as the oud, every inch of a woman's body will resonate to the touches of her lover." Faster and faster he strummed the strings of the oud until the frenzied sound was a wild cry of abandon. "As he strokes her to greater heights, together they will rise on a crescendo of exquisite, rapturous music, soaring into the very heavens upon a wave of ecstasy." His eyes flashed as his deft fingers gently stroked the neck of the oud. "Thus, my lord, is woman more pleasing to man than either wine or music... while still fulfilling the functions of both."</p><p>Few men of the Mark would speak in such a candid manner in mixed company, but instead of being horrified by Inbir's sensual words, Elffled found them beautiful and exciting. How strange it was that she who had been cruelly abused by her enemies could feel an infatuation for a Southron, but she loved his music, his voice, and his compassionate manner. She wished Inbir would pay more attention to her, but perhaps that was why she liked him so much, for he had never forced himself upon her as others had done. Alas! Aeffe had taken a fancy to the soulful musician, and Elffled felt guilty for sharing the same feelings towards the object of her friend's affection.</p><p>"Inbir, now that you have told the solution to your riddle, I judge that you have reckoned the matter of women, wine and music quite well. Now to bring this most pleasant discussion to a conclusion. There is only one small thing which I would add," Esarhaddon smiled devilishly. "Before a man can truly appreciate wine, he must sample many vintages until he finds the best, and so it is the same with women." He chuckled, the sound drenched with lust.</p><p>"My lord," Inbir grinned, "while I have considerable experience with the oud, learning to play the instrument when I was a boy, and drunk my share of wine, I do not have the experience that you have had with women. I intend to remedy that lack one day." Smiling pleasantly, Inbir resumed strumming his oud, softly humming a cheerful melody.</p><p>When Esarhaddon turned his attention to Elfhild, the look on his tawny face was filled with concern. Yet the sarcastic edge in his voice belied his worried expression. "Tender dove, you have not touched your wine. Do you find some fault with it?"</p><p>"I am not very thirsty tonight, Master," she replied quietly and stared down at the carpet. </p><p>"Ah," he nodded his head as he leaned forward slightly, setting the empty cup down on the carpet. As he brought his hand back, he gently laid it on Elfhild's thigh. She flinched but held her ground. She knew instinctively that if she moved or fought, he would swiftly punish her. "I thought perhaps you declined to drink because you suspected that the wine was drugged." His half-closed eyes were mocking as his broad, hairy hand slipped down towards her inner thigh.</p><p>"Hence the reason for my lack of thirst," Elfhild muttered dryly as she clamped her legs together, barring his further progress.</p><p>"You will drink it, my little beauty."</p><p>"Only because I must," she told him, her aquamarine eyes flashing in defiance.</p><p>Responding with a soft chuckle, he did not push her further, satisfied to lay his hand on the top of her thigh. He was pleased that the Rohirric beauty was reluctant to accept his touches, giving him more proof that she was an innocent and not a loose woman. "The girl will be worth the trouble which she has cost me. Once trained to be a pleasing servant, this modest beauty will make me even richer than I am," he thought to himself with satisfaction.<br/> <br/>"Why are you drugging us, Master?" Elffled asked timidly. Though her sister had informed her of her suspicions regarding the wine, Elffled had been thirsty and had drunk over half of her goblet. A drugged draught was better than going thirsty, she supposed.</p><p>"Sweet one, I am loath to send you to the tranquil paradise of dreams when you are unwilling, but you and your sister leave me no choice. Regretfully, the two of you have a very bad habit of running away. This fault in you has proved costly to me, both in money and in trouble." Sighing heavily, he gave both girls a stern look. "The wine in both your cups has been blessed by the gentle giver of slumber, the poppy. Nurtured in my gardens, the delicate blossom produces the seed pods from which this benevolent potion is made. Drink deeply and forget the cares of life for a while," his deep, masculine voice whispered seductively as he took the cup from her hands and held it to her lips.</p><p>"Oh, please, good Master, I do not want to be drugged, but I fear this devilish draught has already begun to work its foul magic in my body!" Shivering with fright, Elffled rubbed her hands over her arms, which were tingling as though they had been asleep. </p><p>Grasping her shoulder, Esarhaddon drew her into the crook of his arm. "Do not fight this boon which I offer you. Calm your fears and give yourself over fully to the power of the wine, and your dreams can be voyages into bliss. Now drink!" He raised the cup once again to her lips, and, too frightened to resist, Elffled drank the rest of the wine.</p><p>"Sweet houri, sleep in the gardens of enchantment," Esarhaddon murmured against Elffled's ear as he laid her gently down upon the carpet. Raising up her head, he slid a red and gold pillow beneath her neck. After kissing her closed eyelids, he turned to Elfhild and his mouth curled into a mocking smile. "Tender flower, I see you have scarcely touched your wine." He raised a questioning eyebrow. "Perhaps you wish to drink the wine from my hand, as did your sister?"</p><p>"That will not be necessary." Her eyes narrowing in a defiant glare, Elfhild raised the goblet in a toast. "To my illustrious master and slavery in the Dark Land!" She downed the somnolent contents of the cup in a few swallows and then hurled the vessel to the ground, where it shattered upon impact. She winced as the heady brew filled her throat with fire and caused her eyes to water.</p><p>"You vex me greatly, slave girl," Esarhaddon growled. He signed to Inbir that he wished him to conclude playing, and listened intently as the young musician deftly plucked an improvised finale to his selection. Ending his song with an elaborate flourish, Inbir closed his eyes and bowed his head. Tucking his oud under his left arm, Inbir rolled to his knees and rose to his feet in a single fluid movement.</p><p>"Excellent playing, Inbir!" Esarhaddon praised him. "Now while you fetch the blankets for my bed, I will amuse myself with this gentle houri."</p><p>"Aye, Shakh." A knowing smile upon his face, Inbir bowed and made his speedy departure.</p><p>"You will rise to your feet, my tender maid." Esarhaddon's voice was filled with silken malice. Bending down and grasping her by the arms, he hauled a startled Elfhild to her feet. Shoving her back against the tree, he gripped her shoulders, pinioning her to the trunk. She winced in discomfort as she felt the rough bark digging into her back. A sardonic smile upon his face, he bent his head, his arrogant lips provocatively close to her mouth. She tried to face him bravely - after all, she had been bold enough to condemn the accursed wine - but she felt her courage ebbing. This situation was sickeningly familiar, and her mind took her back to that dreadful day when she was bound painfully to a tree, tortured by Sharapul, and then threatened with a slow death from starvation by the slaver.</p><p>"Now my little innocent, you believe that you and your sister have been maligned and abused, and that it was a great injustice for you to be required to drink a drugged draught." Esarhaddon's dark eyes glinted with sparks of anger as his fingers dug cruelly into her flesh. "Whatever you think of my men and me, we want to keep you alive. To do this, we cannot take chances on your escaping again, for you do not know this land and might become lost. It is perilous to wander in the woods alone, especially for two maidens as lovely as yourselves." His eyes bored into her frightened ones. "You have learned to fear the orcs, but I will tell you, pretty one, that there are things in this valley far more terrifying than any orc."</p><p>Elfhild gasped softly, alarmed at this new threat and dreading to learn what it might be. Her body trembled, her heart pounding so frantically that she was sure that the slaver could hear its wild thumping. As though taking mercy upon her plight, his expression grew gentler, and, relaxing his harsh grip upon her shoulders, he leaned his forehead against hers, his mint-laced breath caressing her face.</p><p>"What sort of things, Master?" she asked tremulously as she dared to look up into his fierce eyes.</p><p>"Foul things, dark and evil..." came his hushed reply. "Things which would make your heart stop in terror should you ever encounter them." Deep in his eyes, she saw a flicker of some unfathomable emotion. Uncertainty? Dread? A harbinger of the blackest terror? Elfhild gulped, swallowing down the fear which threatened to consume her senses. Could it be that the slaver, that mighty man who was strong both of body and of will, who commanded both man and orc, whose mere whim determined whether she lived or died, was... afraid? Elfhild had difficulty even imagining what fell entity had the power to trouble this indomitable man's mind with doubt, much less frighten him.</p><p>"Since both of you have proved unreasonable and sought ways to escape at every turn, there was nothing to be done but restrain you." Esarhaddon's voice had grown softer, almost conciliatory, and Elfhild found herself being lulled by the sound of his words. "I could either have you and your sister bound hand and foot and chained to a tree, or use a gentler method and drug you to oblivion. Which way would you have it?" He playfully rubbed his forehead against hers, and she could not help the errant giggle that escaped from her lips. After a gentle squeeze to her shoulders, he stroked the soft underside of her chin with the back of his hand.</p><p>Elfhild's eyes lowered in defeat. "Only a fool would choose to spend the night in chains," she muttered, her voice beginning to slur.</p><p>"I was certain that after you had considered everything calmly, you would see things my way." He lifted her chin and smiled warmly into her eyes. "Poor silly little fool," he thought contemptuously. "No doubt she believes these tales with which I have filled her simple mind. While I will admit that strange things have been known to happen here, I believe that the mysterious rulers of the Morgul Vale are mere men, and not ghosts, ghûls, djinns or any other supernatural being, as some believe. A more logical explanation for their advanced knowledge lies with the alchemist kings of the fabled Sunken Land. The ancient lore of the West tells us that these men were always searching for the secrets of life itself. Perhaps in their quest for knowledge, they discovered hidden truths of alchemy and natural philosophy. Maybe their successors, the rulers of this valley, put this knowledge to their own vile use. Wizardry?" he laughed silently. "I think not. Perverse philosophy more likely!"</p><p>Looking deeply into the girl's befuddled eyes, Esarhaddon knew that she would soon be asleep. Turning his head away from her, he gazed intently into the dark woods, where his keen ears had heard someone approaching. "Inbir, is that you?" he called out, and was answered by the young man's reply, "Yes, Shakh, it is I."</p><p>Elfhild whimpered softly, for she felt cold and abandoned after Esarhaddon had moved his head away from hers. Smiling dreamily, she followed his gaze and saw the approaching Inbir walking through a hazy fog. His blurry form disappeared into the mists as everything went dark before her eyes, and she crumpled into the slaver's arms, a blissful expression upon her face. Chuckling softly, Esarhaddon caught her limp body and lowered her to the ground beside her sister.</p><p>***</p><p>As the night wore on, the sisters slept peacefully, their minds filled with dreams both strange and marvelous. Time passed and the silvery orb of Ithil sank closer to the western horizon. Clad in a nightdress of silvery light and wrapped in a robe of river mist, the land of Ithilien reposed in blissful tranquility. The camp lay hushed in the silence of the night, with only the muted sounds of the horses to mar the calm serenity. The sisters slept on, wrapped in the gentle cloak of slumber.</p><p>Suddenly the peaceful stillness of the night was shattered by a mournful keening which rose up in a high-pitched crescendo of agony and rage before choking off in a gasping moan. Elfhild's eyes flew open. She was fully awake, or at least her mind was. Her body lay on the carpet, her limbs made leaden by the sleeping draught. The moaning cry slowly rose with such a fury that all those who listened were convinced that their skulls would surely burst asunder with the intensity of the dreadful howling. Elfhild felt the chords of the deadly call strike deep within her consciousness, threatening to draw her into some shadowy realm beyond the velvety recesses of the night. Barely able to lift her head, her eyes searched the sky to find the presence which she knew was there, but she saw nothing. </p><p>As a second shriek cut through the night, its fell, shuddering sound brought the camp to alarmed wakefulness. The panic-stricken horses reared and bucked in a frenzy to fight against their tethers, their shrill, terrified whinnies adding to the pandemonium that reigned over the camp. Men cursed as they hurriedly tugged on their pantaloons and raced to calm the horses. A third mournful, sobbing wail cut through the somber night as a sharp sword cuts through flesh, and then the sound died, vanishing just as suddenly as it had come.</p><p>Thrice had the demon of the skies called, and thrice had Elfhild's soul trembled within her. She had heard the flying shriekers before as they called out their songs of death, but never before did one of the hell-spawned creatures have such a profound effect upon her. She wondered if the demon's dreadful howling had any purpose. Maybe the phantom was screaming out a warning, or perhaps even a cruel welcome. Perhaps it cried out in the anguish of its damnation, and wished to share its misery with others. Or perhaps there was no meaning at all.   </p><p>Even though the creature had departed, the horses were still in a state of frenzied terror, plunging and struggling to escape. As she lay there helplessly, Elfhild could hear the men as they tried to calm and steady the beasts. Undisturbed by either the strange malefic cries or the chaos in the camp, Elffled slumbered peacefully, her eyelashes a dark smudge against her fair skin. At last, except for a few nervous whufflings and stamping of feet, the horses quieted, and peace returned once again to the camp.</p><p>On the periphery of her vision, Elfhild saw a shadowy figure approaching her from out of the darkness. Terrified that one of the phantoms of the air had come for her, she reached a trembling hand up to ward the monster away. She could see him standing above her, his face and form shrouded by the darkness. A wave of abject terror flooded her mind as she felt a hand touch her shoulder, and she screamed with all her might.</p><p>Floods of tears streaming down her face, she kept screaming until a strong, broad hand clamped over her mouth. "Be still!" a deep voice ordered her. Looking up through a veil of tears, she could see the face of Esarhaddon leaning over her. "Will you be quiet?" he asked, and when she nodded her head up and down, he released her.</p><p>"Oh, my lord, it is you!" Elfhild almost sobbed in relief. "The monsters in the sky frightened me!" She reached a shaky hand out to touch the slaver. Perhaps this man could protect her from the terrors of the night.</p><p>"You heard nothing, only an owl, or your own imagination. Drugs can play tricks with your mind," he murmured reassuringly as he stroked her face.</p><p>"But the horses," she insisted in a weak whisper. "I know I heard them! They were terrified to a state of madness!"</p><p>"Nothing more than a row between the beasts... there is a troublemaker amongst them. Apparently he felt that another one was too close to his fodder, and so he lashed out with his hooves. Nothing to be concerned about. It is all over now." Esarhaddon's voice was calming and soothing, and, oh, how she longed to believe him, to believe that all she had heard was only an aural phantasm of her own mind, brought on by the poppy potion.</p><p>"Go back to sleep, my little dove," Esarhaddon ordered her. She heard his soft breathing as he tugged off his boots and set them at the edge of the carpet. A shock of dread sent Elfhild's pulse racing as she saw him bend down and toss back the covers, for she realized that he planned to sleep between her sister and her.</p><p>Lying down, he rolled to his side and leaned on one elbow while he gazed down at her, his dark eyes glittering in the fading moonlight. "Sweet houri, I will guard you throughout the night and protect you from any harm," he murmured as he ensnared her waist with his arm and turned her to face him. Pulling her still closer, he drew the blanket over them both. She tried to push away from him, and gasped when he caught her hand and pressed it firmly against his chest. "Would you like to feel what lies below, little dove?" he chuckled.</p><p>"Oh, no, Master, please!"</p><p>He held the back of her neck and silenced her protests with a firm kiss. Laying his bearded face against her cheek, he whispered, "Perhaps you will find out what is there one day, but not tonight. Now go to sleep."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Strange Southern Brew</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>Elfhild awoke from a particularly unsettling dream in which poor old Tarlanc had come to her, grave dirt clinging to his tattered clothing. His tall, thin form appeared cadaverous now, and the front of his tunic was covered with a deep maroon stain from where his throat had been slit. His face, mutilated by Sharapul's cruel blade, was covered with a ghastly grin from ear to ear, his cheeks dark with dried blood.</p><p>"Because I did not fulfill my oath, I am cursed to walk the earth," he moaned, the sound both piteous and terrifying. "You are just as much responsible for my death as the uruks!" He shambled forward, stabbing a bony finger at her. "Murderer! Murderer!"</p><p>Sitting up, Elfhild felt dizzy and reached out a hand to support herself. Throbbing waves of pain assaulted her skull, and her eyes ached so fiercely that the pale light of early dawn seemed to set off raging bursts of fire behind her eyes. She blearily looked at her surroundings. Elffled was beside her, still sound asleep. Thankfully, the slaver was nowhere in sight. She wondered what purpose he had in sharing the sleeping mat with her and her sister. Perhaps he was convinced that they might try to escape under the cover of darkness, and he was guarding them in case the drugged wine did not produce the desired effect of somnolence. Or perhaps he was protecting them from the dark creatures which he said lurked in the woods. Or perhaps he was in an amorous mood and wanted to paw over their bodies while they slept. Who knew the mind of such an abhorrent man? Of course, perhaps Elfhild had only dreamt that Esarhaddon had slept between her and her sister. When besotted out of one's wits by some strange potion, who knew what was really real and what was illusion?</p><p>Elfhild shook her head to clear it, but even the slightest movement caused the pain in her skull to rage mercilessly. Her mind and body seemed to be disengaged from each other, disjointed parts of the whole, though at other times, she was certain that the two were separate entities entirely. In her addled state, she was unable to concentrate for any length of time, and she felt as though her brain had turned into a conglomerate of honey and mush. Massaging her temples, she looked about her, not quite certain even where she was. Nothing seemed to make good sense to her that morning. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she rested her forehead upon them and closed her eyes. She must force herself to think, to make sense of what was happening to her, but her mind still refused to cooperate.<br/><br/>"Are you awake?" Ganbar's rough voice barely penetrated her foggy brain. Then there was silence as he waited for a reply. Hearing none, he repeated the question. "Are you awake?" Slowly he tapped his foot up and down. Even though the sound could barely be heard, its impatient repetition irritated Elfhild, for she resented being constantly hurried all the time.<br/><br/>"Do I look like I am awake?" she shot out petulantly, keeping her head pressed against her knees.</p><p>"Keep your flippant comments to yourself, woman, and do not give me any sauce!" Ganbar growled. "And why do you remain seated, stupid cow? You show me no respect by assuming this slovenly pose! Have you forgotten what I taught you?" Angered by what he perceived as the girl's insolence, Ganbar's usual good nature was sorely pressed, and he spoke harshly to her. "Slaves are to rise up and bow when their superiors approach them. You should be whipped for this insolence! Now stand to your feet and bow!"<br/><br/>Elfhild slowly lifted her head and concentrated on Ganbar's blurred shape until at last his body came into focus. The feeling of unreality which had plagued her since waking had begun to fade, and with a shiver of dread, she realized her impertinence. "Master, please forgive me! I must have been talking in my sleep!" she apologized hastily as she commanded her unsteady legs to bear her weight. Then as another wave of dizziness struck her, she felt light-headed and tottered back and forth, weaving on her feet. <br/><br/>"Sit down, wench!" Ganbar exclaimed irritably. "You have not yet regained your wits."<br/><br/>"Thank you, Master," Elfhild murmured gratefully as she sank to her knees and sat back on her heels. <br/><br/>"If your mind were not befuddled from the draught of yesterevening, I would punish you severely for your hateful tongue and lack of respect!" Ganbar snapped. "Clear your head of its webs! The time for sleep is over."<br/><br/>Scowling at the kneeling slave girl, Ganbar was struck by just how vulnerable and frightened she appeared. He had the urge to kneel down beside her, comfort her and wipe the tears from her eyes, and perhaps tell her an amusing story to put a smile upon that lovely face. "She looks so devastated," he reprimanded himself as he felt the bite of guilt.<br/><br/>Had he been wrong in treating her so severely? "Yes, yes," he answered himself, "the sweet, darling girl never deserved the cruel name I called her or the harsh treatment I have dealt her and her sister." Seeing her distress, Ganbar felt angry with himself, angry and frustrated. He had never wanted the assignment of supervising these girls, and he knew himself to be woefully inadequate for the task. What did he know of teaching new slaves anyway? His two slave women had already been trained when he purchased them. Perhaps he was doing everything wrong. "Damn it, why did the Shakh decide to give the slave eunuch away? If he had stayed, he would have been the one to teach these girls!"<br/><br/>Feeling guilty, Ganbar began to speak again, but his tone was much kinder than before. "I have something here which might be helpful to you in waking up." Elfhild saw that he held a brass tray containing two small tulip-shaped green ceramic cups, two brass saucers, and two glasses of water. <br/><br/>Ganbar's loud talking had awakened Elffled, and, groaning, she sat up. "What is that?" she asked, gesturing towards the tray. "From the smell, I do not think I want any... I fear that my stomach is unsettled this morning." Though her sleep had been deep and peaceful with no dreams that she could remember, still she felt nauseated and her body ached with a dull pain.<br/><br/>Deciding that he would deal more kindly with the sisters, Ganbar squatted down and placed the tray on the carpet between them. "Slave girls, the foam-topped brown liquid which you see before you is called 'coffee,' and the glasses of water are provided so that you can refresh your taste after each drink," he remarked as he rose to his feet and moved away to stand at the edge of the carpet. The carpet belonged to the great shakh himself, and it would be rude of him to stand upon it. He considered a moment and then added, "You are cautioned that the coffee is very hot, and perhaps you will find the water of use in keeping the liquid from scalding your mouth."<br/><br/>Cautiously, Elfhild picked up the cup and stared down at the frothy foam on the surface of the liquid. Carefully maneuvering the cup to her mouth, she took a sip. "Ow!" she cried, almost dropping the cup. "'Tis both hot and bitter!" She made a wry face and quickly reached for the glass of water to cool her tongue.<br/><br/>"Perhaps bitter to your unaccustomed tongue," Ganbar laughed, "but we are used to our coffee strong and only mildly sweetened. You girls should feel grateful this morning, for the illustrious Shakh has decided that he will allow you each a cup of this fine coffee. Making good coffee is a complicated and involved process, and while any one of us can brew it, the Shakh reserves that task for himself, for he takes great pride in preparing the drink."<br/><br/>"We are honored by the lord's kindness," Elfhild replied bleakly as she took a sip from her cup. Though Ganbar's tone was milder, she could not yet forgive him for his harsh words. <br/><br/>Growing irritated at Elfhild's sarcasm, Ganbar shot her a hostile look. "Of course, as ignorant barbarians, you would know nothing of the pleasures of this wholesome and stimulating drink!"<br/><br/>"Nay, Master, we are peasants," Elfhild interjected coldly, "and until recently we had not traveled more than a few leagues from our home. We have no idea what the folk of other countries eat or drink." <br/><br/>Ganbar pondered her words for a few moments, and, concluding finally that the girl agreed with him, he smiled indulgently. "Since someday you may well be making coffee for your new owner, you should begin now to learn all you can about this wondrous brew."<br/><br/>"Master, after drinking a few swallows of this strong concoction, I can see that is an acquired taste," Elffled offered diplomatically as she felt her throat assaulted and her stomach scourged by the bitter draught.<br/><br/>"Aye, that is true, but it is a taste that, once acquired, is irresistible. The salubrious effects of this commendable potable were discovered long ago by a young goat herder who was tending his flock in the highlands of Harad." Ganbar beamed at the girls, pleased that at last they had become more tractable. Warming to his story, he went on, gesticulating excitedly with his hands as he came to points which especially impressed him. "The young goat herder had just moved his flock higher up the mountain when he discovered that they had begun to act in a queer fashion. The creatures would not sleep that night, but jumped and cavorted until almost dawn, seemingly indefatigable.<br/><br/>"When morning came, he observed the goats closely and found that they favored a red berry which grew on a small gray shrub covered with colorful foliage. Curious and perhaps more than a little foolhardy, the boy ate some of the berries and discovered that they refreshed his senses and made him more awake." Ganbar smiled at the girls, and seeing that they seemed interested in his tale, he continued, the tone of his voice growing more excited. "One day a wandering holy man came upon the lad, and learning of the beneficial qualities of the berry, he ground some of them up and poured boiling water upon the powder, thus creating what we know as 'coffee.'" Resting his hands upon his thighs, Ganbar looked from one girl to the other, expecting a comment.<br/><br/>"Master, your story was most enjoyable." Elfhild smiled politely. Her sister's face, though, had turned ashen, and the corners of her mouth turned down in a queasy expression. As she had followed Ganbar's animated exposition of the goat herder's tale and watched him wave his arms exuberantly, she had become even sicker.<br/><br/>Pleased at Elfhild's compliment, Ganbar took it as his cue to go on. "You girls do not know how fortunate we are to have this enjoyable brew today, for our supply was exhausted days ago. Were it not for the gracious kindness of Shakh Awidan..."<br/><br/>Elffled could bear no more. As she forced down the last of the coffee, she found that the strong brew collided with her stomach in a churning wave of acidic fury. Her hand shaking, she put the cup down on the carpet. "Oh no, I am sick!" she moaned as she clasped her hands over her mouth and sprang to her feet. Running a few feet into the trees, she bent over, gagged, and retched the contents of her stomach into the bushes. Another racking spasm slammed into her stomach, and she retched again. "Oh, I am dying!" she wailed.<br/><br/>"Oh, Elffled!" Elfhild started to roll to her knees and rush to her sister, but Ganbar's firm hand on her shoulder pushed her down. <br/><br/>"Is your sister a child and can do nothing for herself, even vomit?" Ganbar chided her, his brows furrowed in a deep scowl. "It is her stomach, not yours, that is sick! There is nothing you can do to help her. Now, woman of Rohan, you will finish your coffee, and then you will place both cups and saucers back on the tray. Thank whatever gods you worship that she did not expel the contents of her stomach on the Shakh's fine, expensive carpet!" Shaking his head, he gave her a pitying look as he held up his hands towards the heavens. "If that had happened, the little beauty would have felt the sting of the flail!" He looked towards the woods where Elffled was still bent double. "After you have collected the cups, you will follow me to the stream, where you will wash your dishes."<br/><br/>"But, Master, what about my sister?" Elfhild protested. "Can you not see that she is ill?"<br/><br/>"Not ill enough to need a nurse," he growled. "When her stomach is cleaned out, she will follow us soon enough. If not, she will have to answer to me."<br/><br/>By the time Elffled finally stumbled to the stream, her sister had finished washing and drying the dishes and had placed them back in the tray. "Master," Elffled bowed from the waist, "I am so sorry! I did not mean to--"<br/><br/>"I know, I know," Ganbar dismissed her apologies with a wave of his hand. "There is little time to talk, for we soon must be on the trail once again. The men have already eaten, and you are allowed what remains."</p><p>Feeling far too queasy after her violent attacks of vomiting, Elffled did not touch the cold breakfast that awaited them. Elfhild ate sparingly, her mind brooding upon both the strange flying beasts and the dream she had about Tarlanc. After they had finished cleaning up the eating utensils, they went back to camp and found their horses saddled and waiting for them. Soon the party turned back on the main road and set off at a sprightly trot in the direction of Mordor.</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. The Enchanted River</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>As the party of horsemen journeyed east through Ithilien, Elfhild and Elffled were silent, their minds filled with endless questions which had no answers. Still stinging from the harsh injunction against speaking in their own language, they had decided to say as little as possible in either tongue, and thus avoid trouble. Although quiet, the twins gazed about inquisitively, wondering what new dangers this unknown land might hold, and hoping that one of the Southrons might inadvertently offer some scrap of information that could answer at least some of their questions.</p><p>Although Ithilien had once been lauded as one of the most beautiful places in all of Gondor, after months without the Sun, the vegetation was as withered as that across the Anduin. Still captured in the clutch of unnatural winter, the somber landscape held no hint of vernal color to brighten and refresh the eye of the weary traveler. The hills which flanked the sides of the valley appeared as indistinct grayish brown ridges, the only variance in their monotony the deep gullies which had been carved in their sides long ago by the rushing and tumbling streams created by abundant rains.</p><p>At the lofty heads of deeper ravines were weathered cliffs, their harsh faces scored and exposed by the constant ravishment of water and wind. Strewn down the eroded waterways beneath them were masses of tumbled rock and the uprooted wreckages of trees which formed staircases of rubble leading down the hills. Whenever the sullen skies opened and lashed out their pent-up fury, torrents of water cascaded over the sheer cliffs and swept downstream to collect in deep pools before continuing on their way to merge with the Morgulduin. The only evidence of the violent storm four days before were the sluggish trickles of water which dripped over the rocks. </p><p>Had the Lord of the Dark Tower allowed the gentle touch of spring to fall upon the land, Ithilien would have been filled with the beauty and splendor of summer. No flowers bloomed to grace meadow, woodland or hillside, though. In the narrow lowlands on either side of the Morgulduin grew spreading groves of cedars and olive trees, all ravished by the days of darkness. Springing up near lichen-covered ruins of old stone foundations were the descendants of old orchard trees, their barren branches doomed to remain fruitless that year. Ancient oaks with massive boles and sturdy maples marked the borders of long abandoned fields.</p><p>At the edges of the forest, groves of hawthorn trees were brooding gray clouds of thorns, and the scraggly tops of crabapples provided little shade for the few birds which nested in their unruly branches. The ashes and oaks which grew deeper in the forest should have been clothed in their summery finery, but, alas, they were not. In sunny woodland glades, the spreading boughs of tamarisk trees were not laden with pink blossoms, and the bay laurels, prized by cooks for their pungent leaves, languished sadly. The beeches which clung to the hillsides should have been full of life and vigor, their silvery trunks dappled with shadows cast by their merry green leaves. At least the evergreens had retained some of their color, but the tall pines and firs, dagger-shaped cypresses and junipers, and fair-barked hollies and box trees had more brown foliage than green.</p><p>Yet along the banks of the misty river which paralleled the roadbed, the trees seemed to have been spared from the full fury of Sauron's might. The willows, alders, plane trees, and black poplars which crowded its banks held a faint cast of green, a promise of new life to come. Below them the Morgulduin splashed and gurgled on its way to the Anduin, twisting around great boulders in the midst of the channel and then boiling over small waterfalls, sending up great plumes of steam. Other than the sounds of the noisy waters, the narrow valley was quiet, as though the progress of the slavers and their two charges was being observed by unseen eyes. </p><p>Although the sunrise that morning had been vibrant, the clouds streaked with red and pink, as the day had worn on, the sky turned leaden in the west. By mid-day, the heat under the solemn clouds had built up and now seemed so heavy and oppressive that it was difficult to breathe. The rocky peaks of the Mountains of Shadow were cloaked in a summery haze which obscured the towering horizon and caused the craggy mountainsides to blend into brooding shades of brown, the narrow hollows gloomy smears of charcoal and sable. Far behind them, the White Mountains were dull shadows beneath a dismal sky.</p><p>Ganbar, who led Elfhild's horse, slowed down and allowed her to move up beside him. Taking up the slack in her horse's lead rope, he pronounced glumly, "Take my word for it - there will be rain before dark, and when it comes down, it will be by the bucketfuls!"</p><p>Elfhild had been about to respond, but before she could speak, Ubri interjected coolly, "Unless they are blind, Ganbar, everyone can see that." He also slowed his horse so that Elffled rode abreast of him. The sisters exchanged glances, wondering why they were being allowed to ride beside the men instead of being led behind them like young children. Ubri turned to Elfhild, the expression on his face as close to a smile as he had ever shown her. "Ganbar has the most amazing penchant for continuously stating the obvious."</p><p>Scowling, Ganbar muttered a few unintelligible words and stared straight ahead over his horse's ears. Although Ganbar was by nature good tempered, he had never appreciated being the brunt of a joke, especially when he was merely trying to elaborate on one of his favorite topics, the weather.</p><p>"Ganbar, we know the old saying, 'Red skies at night, sailor's delight; red skies in morning, sailors take warning' just as well as you do," Inbir laughed. "Everyone does, except possibly babes still suckling at their mother's breasts."</p><p>"I was merely explaining that conditions are right for a very bad storm," Ganbar grumbled, his tone turning unpleasant. "And I was not addressing you anyway! Next time I will keep my observations to myself!"</p><p>"Will you swear to that, Ganbar?" Inbir teased good-naturedly, his handsome face lighting up in a wide grin.</p><p>"Leave him be, Inbir! Do you not see that he was trying to impress the slave girl?" Ubri pointed out dryly, his upper lip curling in derision.</p><p>"Oh?" Inbir's eyebrows arched upward. "And I thought he was trying to impress us!"</p><p>Her head lowered demurely, Elffled was unsuccessful at stifling her giggles at the men's banter, and she pressed her bound hands against her lips to subdue her errant laughter. </p><p>Elfhild turned and looked solemnly at Ganbar. "The poor, sad earth will rejoice at any rain that it can get, Master Ganbar," she remarked, her voice as somber as her expression.</p><p>Nodding their heads up and down in agreement, the men murmured a sincere "Aye."</p><p>Up ahead of the small column, Esarhaddon slowed his horse to a walk, signaling a halt with his upraised right hand. His chestnut mare, impatient to be moving again, tossed her head and pranced as he turned to look back at the riders behind him. "The animals are thirsty and so are we. Here we will diverge from the main road and ride up this stream to a point where the bank is not so steep." After crossing a stone bridge which rose in an arch over the short breadth of a brook, Esarhaddon turned his horse to the left and led his men on a path which ran along the stream and disappeared into the woods. Coming to a small glen, he reined in his horse and announced, "Here we will halt for the mid-day meal, but we must not tarry long. The clouds promise a fierce storm."</p><p>While the men let their horses drink from the clear running stream, they washed their faces and hands and then refilled their waterskins. Not sparing the time to spread carpets for any but the Shakh, the three bodyguards sat cross-legged on the ground, talking quietly among themselves while the sisters served them a small meal of dried food. After the men had eaten and turned to their tea, Esarhaddon beckoned the twins to sit beside him while they ate their sparse meal.</p><p>Both girls felt uncomfortable when they were in the presence of the slaver, and Elffled's discomfiture increased when she felt his eyes studying her. His sensuous orbs, partly hidden behind their drooping lids, burned with a look so torrid that it seemed to scald her skin. When he reached over and caught her braid in his hand, rolling it between his fingers, she froze in place, the dried date in her fingers halfway up to her mouth. Frightened, her throat constricted in a gulp, and she put the date back on the tray and looked down at her lap.</p><p>"My little treasure, your hair shines pale yellow and gold with the radiance of the Sun," he murmured as he caressed the woven plait, his face very near to hers. "I long to see you nude, your body covered only with your hair, your long tresses shimmering like cloth-of-gold over your ivory shoulders." </p><p>"I – I am your slave, Master." Elffled swallowed hard. Though the slaver terrified her, she thought it best to submit to him. She had always thought that her introduction to the physical aspects of love would happen at the hands of her husband upon the bed of marriage, but what did that matter now? She was a slave, and had little say in what happened to her. Perhaps slavery was a bit like marriage, she considered wryly. Although there were no slaves in her own land, women did not always have a choice in which man they married. A peasant such as she could marry for love, but a noblewoman might have to marry a man she despised to secure an alliance with another prominent family. Being a slave was like being trapped in such a marriage, but perhaps if she were meek and obedient, her lord would show her kindness and affection.</p><p>Esarhaddon reached out his powerful arm pulled her to his side. As Elffled trembled against him, he crushed the braid in his hand, brought it to his nostrils and inhaled deeply. "Perhaps tonight I will see your shimmering mane spread out over the pillow while I taste the honey of your lips," he whispered in her ears.</p><p>"Please be gentle with me, Master," she whispered back as she hesitantly placed her hand upon his chest. </p><p>"Do you deserve gentleness?" His eyes narrowing, Esarhaddon gripped her hand tightly. "You and your sister caused me much trouble with your ill-conceived attempt at escape. The two of you deserve to be punished severely for your foolishness, but I am a merciful man." </p><p>Elffled lifted her face up to look pleadingly into his eyes. "Forgive me, Master. I know that you are much aggrieved with us for our disobedience, but please know that I never wanted to escape. I only did so out of loyalty to my sister, who insisted upon running away." Ignoring Elfhild's angry glare, she nestled closer to the slaver and rested her head upon his shoulder.</p><p>Releasing her hand, Esarhaddon cupped her chin in his palm and tilted her face to look up into his. "And should your sister decide she wants to escape again, will you stay or accompany her?"</p><p>"There is naught but death and destruction out there," Elffled whispered, evading a direct answer. "My only hope of survival lies in slavery." Captain Ubri said that the slaver might treat her and her sister more kindly if they promised never to escape again. Elfhild, stubborn and hardheaded as she was, would be loath to take such advice, but Elffled did not see the harm in trying. </p><p>Her fists clenching with unspoken outrage, Elfhild watched in revulsion as Elffled degraded herself before the Southron. Her own sister was throwing her under the wagon in a pathetic attempt to win his favor! The pain of betrayal lashed her soul. True it was that Elffled had never wanted to escape and had only done so out of duress, but did she have to tell this man of the enemy that? So much for loyalty!</p><p>Elfhild looked around the clearing. She longed to get away from the loathsome slave trader and her fawning sister. Perhaps if she were allowed to take a short walk, she could work out some of her anger and frustrations without accidentally saying something that would offend her illustrious master. But would the request itself offend him? The man was often inscrutable and highly unpredictable. Still, though, she had to try, for she felt as though she were suffocating! </p><p>Elfhild cleared her throat loudly, a note of impatience in her voice. "Master, if a slave is permitted a question..."</p><p>Burning with desire for Elffled, Esarhaddon scarcely heard Elfhild's words, for he was busy dallying with her sister. When Elfhild placed a gentle hand upon his sleeve, he turned angrily to confront her. "What is it?" he growled, his face darkening with fury as he drew back his hand to strike Elfhild. "The audacity of this rebellious wench is intolerable!" he fumed to himself.</p><p>Elfhild knew that she would hate herself for what she planned to do, but she was learning that sometimes even these vile slavers were lenient, if one postured and groveled enough. "Master," she cried suddenly as she fell forward and pressed her forehead against the ground, "have mercy! I beg you not to strike me!"</p><p>His upraised hand poised in mid-air, he glowered down at her. "Insolent, yes, but the girl is quite lovely," he mused as his gaze wandered from her golden hair down her shoulders to the graceful slope of her back and finally to her firm, round buttocks, which rose up enchantingly. Slowly a pleased smile spread over his face, and the hand which had been so threatening dropped down to stroke gently over her hair. "Slave girl, I grant you mercy this time, but you must learn that when I want to amuse myself with one of my other women, you are not to interrupt. Curb your impetuosity and learn discretion. Now look at me."</p><p>Lifting her head, Elfhild gazed up at him, her blue eyes wide and innocent, her lips trembling. His eyes caught hers and held them in their intimidating gaze, and she was forced to look down at her hands. Had he not dealt with wily slaves such as this one for many years, Esarhaddon might have accepted her seemingly artless ploy as the truth. Though he did not believe the girl's newfound meekness for one moment, still she amused him, and he enjoyed being entertained by beautiful women. Let her play her games! He knew how to play even better ones. This time, he was willing to forgive her, and forgo any punishment.</p><p>"Speak, my pretty little flower; you may ask whatever question you wish, but you must ask it with the proper humility." He was curious to know what question could possibly be important enough to her that she would risk incurring his displeasure. "Some frivolous thing, no doubt, or else she merely hoped to distract me from committing some supposed outrage upon her sister." He laughed to himself, thoroughly charmed by her naivete. </p><p>"Master, I was wondering..." Elfhild hesitated, her courage beginning to dissipate like smoke in the wind, but still she pressed on. "Would I have permission to stretch my legs and walk about the glade for a bit?"</p><p>Esarhaddon regarded her suspiciously, wondering if the girl was planning some mischief. These untamed barbarian women could not be trusted, and this one especially seemed to be a recalcitrant troublemaker. Still, though, pretending to trust her intentions would be a good test to determine if she were finally learning obedience. "Aye, I will grant you this request. Do not venture too far, and stay away from the river, for its waters are treacherous. We must be departing soon, so do not tarry long."</p><p>"I promise that will not go far, Master," Elfhild replied as she rose to her feet and bowed to him. "Thank you for this boon." She turned on her heel and stalked away, fuming at both Esarhaddon and Elffled.</p><p>Elfhild knew that her sister was probably wise to fawn and simper before Esarhaddon, but she chafed at thoughts of acquiescing to the enemy. She felt that if she submitted to the slaver, she would bring shame to her family, her country, and her King. Her father and mother gave all in the fight for freedom, and if she simply gave up and accepted slavery, she would be dishonoring their memory. She would also be making a mockery of the sacrifice that poor old Tarlanc had made to help her and her sister escape to their homeland. He had given up his home, his livelihood, and his life to help them. Her thoughts went back to her horrible nightmare about Tarlanc's unhappy wight. In his youth, Tarlanc had sworn upon the Valar that he would kill Dezi, the man whom he believed had stolen the affections of his wife, Tabahanza. However, he had never fulfilled that oath, for both he and Dezi were too heartbroken by Tabahanza's tragic death to continue their quarrel. Would the Valar pardon him, or would he be bound by the conditions of his vow, doomed to roam the earth forever as a restless spirit?</p><p>While Elfhild felt bound by duty and honor to continue resisting her captors, she knew in her heart that her struggle was doomed. If she continued to resist the might of Mordor, she would lead a life of misery, beatings, and rape. Perhaps if she were lucky, her suffering would be brief, and she would swiftly meet her end at the hands of an outraged Southron who could bear no more of her impertinence. Perhaps that was what she really wanted, to provoke the slavers to the point of killing her. Then she could join her family in the Halls of the Dead, and would be free at last of the travails of this cruel world. But then Elffled would be heartbroken, and Elfhild could not stand to bring her sister pain.</p><p>As she followed the course of the little stream, her thoughts raging inside her mind, Elfhild slowly became more aware of her surroundings. The clearing possessed an austere beauty, the branches of the surrounding trees forming intricate patterns against the overcast skies. Here and there a pine or cedar peered out from amongst the leafless brown and gray trees, adding depth and variety. Truly, this glade would be a most beauteous place if the trees were in their full splendor, the meadow grasses green and filled with wildflowers. Elfhild sighed deeply, imagining strolling through the tall grass and picking a bouquet of pristine white daisies and bright purple lupines.</p><p>She had walked much farther and quicker than she realized, and now the stone bridge was before her. Just a short distance from the bridge was the place where the brook flowed into the misty waters of the Morgulduin. Ever since she had first laid eyes upon it, the Morgulduin had enchanted her with its ethereal beauty. The trees and plants which grew along its banks seemed greener and brighter than any other foliage she had seen upon her journeys through the desolate, war torn wilderness of Rohan and Gondor. The long, trailing fronds of the willows, covered in bright green buds, swayed and undulated in a soft breeze, beckoning her to come closer. Smiling to herself, she daydreamed about sitting beneath the willows and watching the churning water of the silvery river swirl around rocks and fill small inlets near the shores with bubbling foam.</p><p>Elfhild looked back towards the slavers' camp. Esarhaddon had said to stay away from the river, that the waters were treacherous… but what harm would it be if she ventured closer to the rocky shore? She clasped her hands before her and sighed as her gaze returned once more to the river, for its ethereal beauty made her heart ache. How could any stream so fair and beauteous hold any danger? Never in all her weary miles of travel had she ever seen such a delightfully enchanting stream whose beckoning waters gleamed like quicksilver and sang with their own merry tune as they rushed to the Anduin. Surely the elven-folk had once favored this place with their blessings, and perhaps even now, they could be seen on moonlit nights dancing in mystic circles along the banks and frolicking amongst the waters. </p><p>Seemingly of their own accord, her feet took her closer to the steep bank. Steam rolled over the surface of the water, as though the river itself were boiling, but the mists which swirled and danced in the heavy air were as cold as the wind in winter. Elfhild closed her eyes, for the chill vapors felt refreshing against her sweaty brow. How wonderful it would feel to slip into those cool waters, and forget for a while the sorrows of her unhappy life… the grief she felt for her parents and brother, the guilt she felt for Tarlanc's death, the degradation of being forced into slavery… She felt herself falling forward towards the ensorcelled river below, but it did not matter, for soon the icy waters would welcome her and she would at last be at peace… </p><p>Suddenly a grip of iron upon her wrist drew her back from the brink, and she found herself in the arms of Esarhaddon uHuzziya, the treacherous spell of the Morgulduin broken. </p><p>"Foolish wench! Have you taken leave of your senses?" Esarhaddon grabbed Elfhild's shoulders and pulled her so close to his face that she could feel his heavy breath beating down upon her skin. "I told you to stay away from the river! The water is poisonous, and breathing in the vapors which rise from its surface can cause one to become grievously sick!" His eyes wild and ferocious, he shook her so savagely that her head rocked on her shoulders. "This river is called the 'Morgulduin' in the West and the 'Dushana' in Mordor, both words meaning the 'River of Black Sorcery.' In Harad, these foul waters are called 'Id Namushak,' and in Khand, 'Mütänim Näru.' Both mean 'River of Pestilence and Death.' If I had not reached you in time, you would have perished!"</p><p>"Master, I – I did not know!" Elfhild cried piteously, tears streaming down her face. "Something… something came over me, and I found myself drawn to the water's edge! It was as though I were under some sort of spell!" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Esarhaddon's three bodyguards and her sister rapidly approaching on running feet, their faces aghast at what had just befallen. </p><p>His dark eyes flashing sparks of fire, Esarhaddon dug his fingers so fiercely into her shoulders that Elfhild cried out in pain. "All, save for ignorant peasants such as yourselves, know of the fame of the Morgulduin's lethal poison and its evil potency. There is some foul miasma which hovers over the waters, defiling them and causing any who drink from them to become grievously ill," he grated harshly. "It is said by some that one drink brings madness and two is instant death, while others say that a draught of these foul waters will cause cankerous lesions that slowly eat out the entrails, causing the victim to die an excruciatingly long and painful death."</p><p>Elfhild's heart pounded out a frantic rhythm in her chest, and her mind reeled in terror. How close she had come to death! And worse still, she would have blithely leapt to her doom without ever realizing the peril she faced! She looked up with tear-filled eyes at Esarhaddon's face, and quailed at the fury she saw there. Though his anger filled her with dismay, she felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude wash over her. This man, callous though he could be, had saved her life once again!</p><p>"Master, thank you for coming to my rescue," she cried out as she fell to her knees before him.</p><p>Unimpressed by the girl's gratitude, Esarhaddon grabbed her by her hair and hauled her back to her feet. "Men! Bring me ropes and a flail! This slave must be punished for her disobedience! It is the only way she will learn to obey!" </p><p>Muttering under his breath, Ganbar took a coil of rope from his pack, and, roughly pulling her hands forward, he bound her wrists. Out of the corner of her eye, Elfhild saw Ubri hand Esarhaddon a flail. The slaver gripped her bound wrists and dragged her over to a large tree a goodly distance away from the enchanted river. She gasped as he pulled the sash away from her waist and pulled her tunic and undershirt up to rest around her shoulders. Holding her bound hands aloft, Esarhaddon pushed her against the bole of the tree. She felt her exposed breasts press against the rough bark and she winced in pain, for her bruised body still ached from the tortures she received at the hands of Sharapul.</p><p>"Keep your arms raised over your head," Esarhaddon ordered, his hot breath blowing against her ear. "You have disobeyed me and now will receive your punishment. Under no circumstances are you to cry out or make a scene. If you do, I will whip you more."</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Elfhild closed her eyes and braced herself for the pain she knew would soon come, but she was totally unprepared for the full might of the flail as it came down mercilessly upon her exposed back. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes and she choked back a sob. Though the orc slave drivers had kept the captives moving by striking sluggish legs with their whips and flails, she had never received a whipping like this before.</p><p>"You are to remain silent when you are being chastised," Esarhaddon urged her, and she caught a hint of cruel amusement in his voice. "If you ever venture near the Morgulduin again, you will find that the punishment you receive will be far harsher than this." He drew the flail back and struck her a second time. The stinging blow was so wickedly severe that Elfhild could not help the agonized gasp which escaped from her lips. "You are doing very well, my gentle dove. I know you are not trained to obedience, but you are remaining as quiet as you possibly can. You will learn to be strong and bear your pain."</p><p>Tears streamed down Elfhild's cheeks, and her body shook with the sobs she was holding back. Though this punishment was cruel, she probably deserved it, for she had almost paid for her disobedience with her life. If Esarhaddon had not found her in time, she would have succumbed to the spell of the Morgulduin and perished beneath its icy waters. Since he had saved her life, she would try to bear this whipping without complaint. Still, though, the third blow of the flail left her writhing in agony, her tormented skin feeling as though she had been scourged by fire. Gnashing her teeth, she clenched her fists and ground the toes of her shoes into the dirt, but still she did not make a peep or let out a whimper.</p><p>"Your first lesson in obedience is concluded." Esarhaddon pulled her rumpled tunic down over her stinging back and turned her around to face him. "You will now show how grateful you are for my discipline by kneeling and kissing the flail." A smug smile upon his face, he held the many-tressed whip out before her.</p><p>Wincing in pain, Elfhild struggled to her knees, her abused flesh screaming in protest. She leaned forward and lightly brushed her lips over the flail. So many conflicting thoughts and emotions were racing through her mind… anger, resentment, fear, shame, gratitude, guilt… She felt as though she were drowning in her own head, and the only thing which kept her from sinking beneath waves of confusion was the throbbing pain in her back. As she gingerly rose to her feet, Esarhaddon offered her a hand to support herself.</p><p>"My little flower, you should know that I did not want to do this to you, but you left me no choice," he murmured consolingly. "You should take comfort in the fact that this punishment was a mild one, and no permanent harm has been done to your lovely back. If you learn from your mistakes and try to be an obedient slave, your life in Mordor will be much easier. Now come, it is time that we leave this place behind and continue on our journey."</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. A Convergence of Ways</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild<br/><br/>Esarhaddon put his spurs to his mount's sides, and the chestnut mare tore up the main road like a sweeping storm across the desert. Ka'adara, his exuberant mare, was all spirit and fire as she sped down the road, her pounding hooves churning up a small cloud of dust behind them. The rest of the horsemen raced behind, but at a slower pace than the speedy mare. Although they were fair riders, the twins found that their bound hands made it difficult to keep their balance in the saddle, and more than once they were forced to clutch the pommel to keep from falling.</p><p>As they rode, Elffled looked towards her sister with concern. She did not understand all the chaos that had transpired that afternoon. All she knew was that Elfhild had stalked off in a fury, abandoning her to the slaver's amorous desires. The next thing she knew, Ganbar started shouting and pointing towards the river, throwing the camp into an uproar. Elfhild was blindly walking towards the Morgulduin in a trance and would have thrown herself into the bewitched waters had not Esarhaddon reached her in time to pull her back. "For a man of his bulk, the slaver can certainly run fast," Elffled reflected, grateful that he had saved her sister's life. However, Elfhild had paid a terrible price for her folly, for Esarhaddon had flailed her back with the whip.</p><p>"My dear sister certainly put the slave trader into a foul mood, and he punished her sorely for her transgressions," Elffled mused as she leaned slightly to the right and peered past Ubri's mount to where Esarhaddon's chestnut mare was far in the distance. Though she could not see the slaver's face, she knew by the rigid way which he held himself in the saddle that he was in a black rage. Such a terrifying man, she thought, given to such violent tempers and seething passion! A shiver of fear and dread raced up her spine as she thought of the long journey ahead of them and how they must suffer as the unfortunate victims of this man's impetuous whims.</p><p>As Ka'adara raced on ahead, her tail arched out behind her and trailed down like a streaming fountain. Esarhaddon gave the mare her head and she raced like the wind, her shoes pounding on the pavement and sending up sparks. Although their riders' expressions showed that they were weary with the uneven race, still the men kept urging their blowing, lathered mounts forward to attempt to catch up with the mare.<br/><br/>"The arrogant brute is showing off," Elffled thought, with more than a trace of admiration mixed with her ire.<br/><br/>At last slowing his horse, Esarhaddon held the chestnut at a brisk trot, obviously proud of the splendid animal and her paces. The spirited mare, unwilling for her romp to be over, chafed at the rein and mouthed the bit, playfully rolling it between her teeth. Though the mare was by no means large at only fifteen hands high, and of a fine, almost dainty build, still her short, sturdy back carried the tall, heavyset slave trader well. Elffled could not help admiring the mare's superb carriage, her long, flowing mane and tail, and her arching neck set with a small, refined head that curved gracefully down to a small muzzle. <br/><br/>While Elffled was admiring Esarhaddon's graceful mare and excellent horsemanship, Elfhild rode quietly upon her own horse. Her back was in agony, and every fall of the horse's hooves upon the rocky, uneven ground made shocks of pain race through her body. She wept silently, still reeling from her first real punishment at the hands of her master. But even more disconcerting was what she had done to incur his wrath. The River of Black Sorcery had drawn her to its rocky banks, compelling her to surrender herself to the enchanted waters, and she had been so bewitched that she would have plunged into those unknown depths without a second thought. If she had only obeyed Esarhaddon's order that she avoid the river! But the Morgulduin called to her, summoning her to its banks, its allure all but irresistible.</p><p>Even now the silvery river caught her gaze again, and as she looked at the serene waters, once more Elfhild felt its seductive call. How could an entire river be poisonous? The water was always flowing, and any evil taint would quickly be washed away! Her eyes followed the course of the Morgulduin as it disappeared into the dismal mists of the Ephel Dúath. Perhaps the cause of the river's malignancy was the location of its headwaters - the sullen, brooding Mountains of Shadow. But how could a river so beautiful be evil? Evil was supposed to be dark and frightening, and not tranquil and lovely! Perhaps the Southrons were mistaken, and the Morgulduin was not as dangerous as they thought. Perhaps not all the legends about the river were true. Perhaps these frightening tales of horrible diseases borne by the water had been invented by the Enemy to frighten slaves into submission. Perhaps if she had fallen into the river, nothing bad would have happened to her other than her clothes becoming soaking wet. But, then again, perhaps it was best for her to avoid the Morgulduin altogether, as she had no way of knowing whether the dark tales about its bewitching waters were true or false. And, besides, she did not want to receive another whipping.</p><p>At that moment, the wind swept aside the dark, threatening clouds, and the sunlight lit up the rugged vale. Caught in the breeze that blew along the road, Ganbar's keffiyeh trailed behind him. He leaned back in the saddle, looking up at the clouds. "It is going to be a bad storm when it gets here."<br/><br/>"You have said that before," Inbir muttered under his breath.<br/><br/>As the small party trotted their horses along the Morgul Road, the ground continued to rise gradually before them. Ahead loomed a great wall of evergreens, taller and more magnificent than any of the other trees which grew about the surrounding woodlands. Though the tops of many of these somber, ancient giants had been shredded and broken by some fierce calamity, still they had resisted the destructive force and clung relentlessly to life. When the entourage passed through an archway of overlapping branches, the twins discovered that they were in a ring of trees where the convergence of four roads met.<br/><br/>For a time at least, a hush fell over the group as they beheld the marble statue of a stately figure which sat upon a great throne. Erected in the far past near the juncture of the road to the Black Gate and the road to Osgiliath, the magnificent stone sculpture was set high atop a lofty pedestal with several steps. Obviously the image was of some illustrious personage, for the sculptor had fashioned it with an artfully crafted medallion about its neck and flowing robes of stone to adorn its body. The sisters felt a sadness come over them as they realized that at some time in the past, the great noble's head had been hewed from his stony neck and now lay at some distance away. In the place of the kingly visage, a large stone had been hoisted upon the statue's shoulders and painted with a grotesque face from which one obscene red eye leered mockingly at passersby. Crude black runes and lewd scribbles crawled over the base and knees like seething worms infesting a corpse.<br/><br/>Remembering the obscene artwork scrawled upon buildings in the deserted hamlet by the Anduin, Elffled recognized the work to be that of orcs, and cringed inwardly. Gathering up her courage, she decided to ask Ganbar to tell her anything he knew of the statue's origins. "Master Ganbar, do you know the name of the king whose likeness was portrayed, and when the statue was erected?"<br/><br/>Sniffing loudly, Ganbar studied the statue for a few moments and then spat to the side. "Some old Gondorian king from the past. No one knows who he was, or really cares. Whatever he said or what great deeds he might have accomplished are long since forgotten. That is all I know about him." He shrugged.<br/><br/>"Surprised you do not add your signature to all the rest, Ganbar." The corners of Inbir's mouth turned up in a teasing grin that flashed his sparkling white teeth.<br/><br/>"I did that the last time I went through here," Ganbar muttered. "That is my name down there near the base of the pedestal." He motioned with an upward flick of his chin.<br/><br/>Ubri turned his mirthless smile on Elffled. "Some say the ruler's name was Isildur, an early king of Gondor," he interjected pretentiously. "He was a Moon worshiper and dedicated this land to his patron god. The irony is that, long after he died, the city which he founded was taken over by other Moon worshipers." Chuckling dryly, he urged his horse forward, pulling Elffled's mount behind him.<br/><br/>Elffled gasped as her horse suddenly moved beneath her. "Yes, Master, but who was he?" she called out as her mount moved in step with Ubri's.<br/><br/>"Isildur was co-regent of Gondor, along with his brother Anárion," Esarhaddon's deep voice rang through the clearing. He had turned his mare about to face his men. "He and many of his people escaped from the Accursed Island which drowned many years ago in the sea. The world would have been better off had they gone down with their wretched island," the shakh added grimly. "They brought nothing but slavery and war with them." As he looked over his men, who all nodded their heads in agreement, a faint smile crossed over his face. "We have seen all there is to be seen here and will tarry no longer," he told them as he turned his mare and rode away.<br/><br/>"Thank you for answering my questions, Masters." Elffled bowed her head respectfully, but other than a grunt from Ganbar, no one acknowledged her as they rode towards the meeting place of the four ways.<br/><br/>"We have now come to the Cross-roads," Ubri pronounced. "Behind us lies Minas Tirith. To the north is the road which leads to the Black Gate, where we certainly are not going. If you follow the road which leads to the south, you will come to Harad, the land of our people. But the road which we now travel leads to the Kingdom of Morgul, and then on to Mordor."<br/><br/>"There are a lot of other places where I would rather be going," Ganbar muttered dourly. He glanced up the road ahead of them as though expecting some dark apparition to materialize.<br/><br/>"Ganbar, you worry too much, always expecting trouble. There will be no problems, I tell you. All the necessary papers have been completed, and the Shakh has paid all the taxes and tolls in advance," Ubri remarked crossly, a flicker of doubt passing over his face as he scanned the trail ahead.<br/><br/>Shifting his position in the saddle, Inbir craned his neck and gazed up at the distant mountains before them. "Ganbar, the Captain is right; there is nothing to be gained by worry. If you were not supposed to be here, then you would be someplace else. Everything was ordained long before you were born. Fate has brought us to this valley on this day for some purpose," Inbir pronounced with unshakable certainty.<br/><br/>"Inbir, how do I know that is true?" Ganbar asked skeptically. "Just because you think that way does not make it true. For all I know, I am really supposed to be in a tavern with a cup of wine in my hand as I watch beautiful dancing girls twist and sway." From the smug expression on his face, it was apparent that Ganbar considered that the discussion was over and that he was clearly the winner.<br/><br/>"Because you are not at the tavern at this present moment," Inbir quietly pointed out.<br/><br/>Scowling, Ganbar reflected a few moments on Inbir's words. "Bah!" he muttered under his breath. "Philosophy has no purpose other than to confuse people and make their brains stick together! I will keep to the things I understand, such as the weather, which, if you have been too preoccupied with your philosophy to notice, is about to get much worse!" Smirking, he held out his left hand and felt a drop of rain splash on his palm.</p>
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<a name="section0021"><h2>21. A Forgotten Castle</h2></a>
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    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild<br/><br/>As the party of slavers rode their horses through the ring of ancient trees, they heard the distant rumble of thunder behind them. "What have I been telling you all this time?" Ganbar demanded as he waved his arm for emphasis. "Here it is now at our heels, coming on fast!" he shouted in excitement.<br/><br/>"No one was arguing with you," Ubri growled as he turned back to study the rapidly approaching storm. Jagged fingers of lightning sliced through the swollen black clouds and tore the heavens asunder before plunging to earth. "Still, it is not as bad as it could be. I have seen far worse storms."<br/><br/>"Bad enough," Inbir muttered as a sudden blast of wind slammed into their backs. Gathering in intensity, the gusty breeze spun dust and dry leaves into swirling spirals, whipping the debris ahead on the eaves of the storm. As the raging maelstrom swept closer, the clouds boiled and seethed with a malevolent fury. The skies lowered as though a vast, heavy black glove had been thrust against the land, and from the foundation of heaven, daggers of lightning forked and twisted like great, angry serpents intent upon destroying the very earth.<br/><br/>The road seemed to glow faintly, the pallor of the pavement taking on a faint greenish cast. Inbir cursed as some of the pack horses grew restive and fretful at the sounds of the storm, snorting and shying, and all of his attention was directed towards calming the frightened beasts.<br/><br/>The celestial bombardment increased in strength, with one savage bolt of lightning after another carving its way through the clouds like rivers and their tributaries. There was a pause and then a ferocious bolt etched a brilliant path through the clouds. An explosion of thunder soon followed quickly in its wake. "One... two... three... nine!" Ganbar called out. "That last one was only nine miles away!"<br/><br/>"Master Ganbar, how do you know?" Elffled inquired tremulously, frightened of the fury of the storm. She looked down to see her hands quivering against the pommel of the saddle.<br/><br/>"Thought everyone knew that." Ganbar's face lit up in an arrogant smile. "Since the people in your backward land are so ignorant, I will educate you. When you see a shaft of lightning, you begin counting seconds. Then after you hear the thunder, you stop counting. The number that you have reached will be the distance in miles from the strike. As the storm gets closer and closer, the count between the lightning and the thunder will get shorter and shorter. Thus you can predict how far away the storm is from you." He looked over at Elffled, pleased at his superior knowledge. "There went another... even closer now!"<br/><br/>Ahead of them, Esarhaddon moved his chestnut closer to the side of the road, slowing her to a walk to allow Ubri to catch up with him. The Shakh turned to Ubri and laughed. "Damn, Captain! By Inanna's succulent nipples, if we are not all going to get soaking wet before we ever get to shelter!"<br/><br/>"Unfortunately, my lord, you are correct," Ubri agreed dourly. "We are in for a royal deluge!"<br/><br/>"Men!" Esarhaddon shouted in Westron so that the captives could understand him and his men could hear him above the clamor of the storm. "Up that small path to the right! You know where the way leads! We have sheltered there before!"<br/><br/>Urging his horse to a spirited trot, he moved out ahead of his men as the rain began to pour down from the heavens and plummet the riders. The Shakh pulled the hood of his burnoose over his head and wiped the water from his eyes as he peered through the sheets of rain. His men could barely see him on the road ahead of them as the rain pelted them, soaking through their clothing to the skin.<br/><br/>Slowing his horse to a walk, Esarhaddon rode the mare up the Morgul Road for almost a furlong before he found the path for which he had been seeking. Turning her to the left, he led the entourage up a little-used trail. Their shoulders hunched against the driving rain, the horsemen struggled to see through the driving torrent of water. There was no let up in the storm, and the rain only intensified, stinging the riders' eyes and lashing their skin with needle-like prickles. The trail rose steadily beneath their horses' feet and wound its way through the shadowy forest. Rivulets of water rushed down the path, gathering up momentum until they turned into small, muddy streams.<br/><br/>The party came to a place where the grade leveled out and the road widened. The slaver reined his mare to a halt. "Ganbar, Ubri!" he barked out, shouting to be heard above the rain. "Untie the slaves! The trail grows steadily rougher past this point, and the wenches will need their hands to help them hold onto their horses!"<br/><br/>"My lord, are you sure?" Ubri asked, uncertain if he had heard the slaver correctly or not. "The slaves might make another escape attempt if they are given the freedom of their hands!"<br/><br/>"Not in this place!" Esarhaddon laughed. "Even the mad women of the Rohirrim would not be foolish enough to hazard such a risk!"<br/><br/>"How can you be so confident, my lord?" Ubri called to him as he tightened the rein on Elffled's horse, drawing it closer to his own mount. As she extended her bound hands, he untied her and slipped the rope into a saddle bag.<br/><br/>"Look up ahead," the slaver replied as he pointed the bat of his riding crop at a nearby pine. "There is an orc sign on that tree trunk. See the mark of the Great Eye? There were more signs like this back down the trail." <br/><br/>"I must have missed them," Ubri nodded his head gravely as he made out a bold scrawl on the trunk of a tree, visible in spite of the downpour. "No threat to us, for we have agreements with them." Grinning darkly, he leered at Elffled. "However, should these two run away, they would very likely fall into the brutes' hands, and there is nothing they would like better than to plunder some nubile female flesh." Elffled could tell from the expression upon Ubri's face that he wanted to be the one to do the plundering. Trying to ignore his dire threat, she looked down at her hands and concentrated on rubbing her chafed wrists.<br/><br/>Shuddering as she rode by the crude, primitive drawing, Elfhild whispered a prayer of protection. She glanced back behind her, and through the pouring rain, it seemed that the malevolent Eye was staring at her, following her. She shivered again and turned away quickly.<br/><br/>The trail steadily climbed through the dense forest, passing by an outcropping of rock that had once been cut away for the roadbed. Occasionally they saw a great broken boulder that had tumbled down from somewhere above. The downpour slowed for a short while and then renewed itself with a fury. Above them, outlined by a crackle of lightning, a mighty castle rose from the crest of the hill, as though it had sprung from the very rock which lay beneath the soil.   <br/><br/>Twisting her head around, Elfhild dared to look behind them, only to see that the land below had been swallowed up in a thick, enveloping mist. She felt a chill go down her back, but ignored it and looked back up the slope. Crowning the top of the hill like a circlet were the ruins of an old wall, the keep's first defense against enemies, although the walls posed little opposition now. The castle itself was in better condition, though years of neglect had taken their toil, and the lofty spires which crowned the towers were damaged in many places. While she could not see the whole structure, Elfhild surmised that the castle was square in shape with four round corner towers and an impressive square-shaped gatehouse. Great floating clouds of mist seemed to wrap about the castle like gossamer sheets, only to be driven away like wisps of smoke in the breeze.<br/><br/>She wondered who had built the castle and for what purpose. Who had lived there? What had life been like for them? The only ones who could possibly know the answers to her questions would be the Southrons, but she was too frightened to ask.<br/><br/>Soon the castle which had seemed so brooding and ominous from the slope was right before them. Even though the fortress was by no means to be accounted as one of the mightiest strongholds of Gondor, still the sisters, who knew little of buildings other than wooden halls, thought that it was the mightiest structure they had ever seen, outside of Minas Tirith. Unseen from the slope, a dry moat surrounded the castle, though dirt and debris had been mounded up to allow passage into the structure. Esarhaddon led the party over the earthen bridge and through the gatehouse into the inner ward.<br/><br/>As the sisters looked around the bailey, they were struck by how empty it was. There should have been guards patrolling the cobblestone paths which flanked the buildings, grooms leading splendid destriers back to the stables, and people hurriedly bringing supplies to the kitchen and pantries. But there was no one there; the place had been abandoned for many years. The buildings showed the signs of abandonment, crumbling, stained masonry and ruined roofs. Trees and brambles had taken root in the bailey, and the forest had crept up to the outer walls.<br/><br/>Esarhaddon motioned for them to follow him to a long, one-story building which had once served as the castle's great hall. After the party had dismounted, the men tugged and cajoled the unwilling horses up the short flight of stairs which led into the structure. The stable, which had been constructed of wood, had long since fallen into shambles and rotted away with nothing left save a stone foundation. The great hall, once the pride of some Ithilean lord, now served as a stable to the Southrons' mounts. Grateful to be out of the rain, the twins lowered the hoods of their burnooses and looked around the large chamber.<br/><br/>Though the ravages of time had been as cruel to the interior as it had to the exterior, some of the former grandeur still managed to peek through the long disuse. The roof above was still intact, and the stone walls were still covered with plaster, though it was crumbling in places. Here once again, as they had seen so many times, was the grim reminder of the Master who now ruled this land - the mark of the baleful Eye of the Dark Lord was painted over sections of the wall where had once hung tapestries of Western victories; scenes from history, hunts, feasting; and the more gentle scenes of sowing and reaping. Most of the stained glass upon the windows had been broken out, although some of the colorful shards still remained, joined together by weathered lead casings. <br/><br/>The men tied the horses to a picket rope which had been strung between two iron rings driven into the masonry for just that purpose. As the men tended to the animals, Elfhild and Elffled retreated to the side of the wall and stayed out of their way. Taking off their burnooses, the girls loosely folded the sodden cloaks and laid them on a relatively clean spot on the rubble-strewn floor. Chilled by the rain and the coolness of the hall, they rubbed their arms vigorously, trying to bring heat to their limbs.<br/><br/>The dim light which filtered down through the tall windows, brightened now and then by a white flash of lightning, began to lessen as darkness fell. Throughout the hall, the men lit torches and set them in sconces along the walls. The dreary interior began to look, if not cheerful, at least more livable.<br/><br/>His saddlebags thrown across one shoulder, Esarhaddon strode over to the twins. Frightened, the girls knelt before him, their foreheads close to the floor, until he gave them permission to move. Righting themselves, the sisters sat back on their heels, their eyes watching as each drop of rain water dripped slowly from the Shakh's wet burnoose. There was nothing in the slaver's manner which suggested that he was still angry with her, but Elfhild, having felt the cruel caress of the flail, now greatly feared the whip. She kept her head bowed, not wanting to meet his fierce gaze.<br/><br/>"Rise to your feet," he told them as his eyes flicked over their soaked, clinging garments which revealed the details of their shapely curves. "The men will soon have a fire going in the fireplace." He motioned with his riding crop to a huge hearth along the other end of the hall. "I sense you are puzzled as to why there is dry wood waiting for us. This old, ruined citadel has long been used by travelers seeking shelter - soldiers and merchants, vagabonds, and even thieves, who have need of lodgings. Even the orcs take advantage of it. Rumor has it that the Lords of Morgul sometimes bring their women here. That, however, is something to which I cannot attest." He chuckled deeply, laughing at some joke that only he knew.<br/><br/>"Who are the Lords of Morgul?" Elfhild asked curiously.<br/><br/>He took a step forward and lifted up Elfhild's chin with the tip of his riding crop. "They are the overlords of this valley and all the territory you see round about you, though I suppose that they have not quite made the annexation of Ithilien official... As of yet, they have not begun building watch towers and fortresses... but they will in time." His head nodded up and down, as though he pondered something complicated but had not yet arrived at a conclusion. "Although I do not know whom they have to fear now, unless they think that the West could somehow summon up enough strength to launch a counterattack and retake lost ground. A dubious proposition at best."<br/><br/>Elfhild's brow furrowed in confusion. "But, my lord, I thought that Mordor lay over yonder mountains."<br/><br/>"You, my little dove, are far too curious about these matters. Why does a foolish woman want to ask so many questions? What good will the answers do you?" The slaver's eyes were hard as he traced the crop over the fair skin of her throat and down between her breasts. "Think of how you can please your new master and that will be more than enough to occupy your foolish mind."<br/><br/>Elfhild's face flamed with sudden embarrassment, but she was determined to stand firm. "My lord, I am but a poor, lowly peasant maid," she told him meekly. "And, having little learning, I know that I must appear dull and backward to you. This is no fault of mine, for I was never taught to read or write. I merely wished to learn about the land through which we travel and not appear so ignorant, for surely a master would soon grow tired of such a dim-witted slave as I am."<br/><br/>The slaver chuckled as he brought the crop back to rub under her chin. "Perhaps my little Northern flower is not so dense as she has led me to believe." The crop gently tickled and teased over the hollow of her throat, stroking the skin as though it were an extension of his own hand. "While it would please me if I thought that you were really eager to do something that would increase your value to me, I hardly believe that is your intent." He smiled arrogantly, his sensual lips parting enough to allow her a glimpse of his pearly teeth. "You are merely curious. Am I correct?" His dark eyes were amused as he brought the tip of the crop to her lips and slowly outlined their curving planes.<br/><br/>Elfhild wanted to move away and halt the infuriating tickle of the leather, but she knew that he would punish her swiftly if she did. Instead, she pretended to pout, her lower lip trembling under the bat of the crop as though she were on the verge of tears. "Forgive me, my lord. I am only a slave."<br/><br/>Esarhaddon threw back his head and laughed. "Such a charming expression! Perhaps you should employ it when you stand on the auction block. It might deceive a buyer into believing that such a show of naivete was further proof of your virtue, modesty, and maidenly innocence. You do not fool me for one moment, slave girl, but you are entertaining, I will admit that, and so I will take a little time to answer your question, but I will not spend too long at it."<br/><br/>"Thank you, my lord," Elfhild replied dutifully. While her feminine wiles did not impress him, at least they made him more willing to answer her question.<br/><br/>"There is a small kingdom, little more than a city-state really, which claims the pass through the mountains and many of the surrounding peaks, highlands, and tributary valleys," Esarhaddon explained. "This principality is known as the Kingdom of Morgul, or Dor-en-Ulaer, and is ruled by a mighty king who is vassal to the Lord of Mordor. The name of this king is known only to his closest confidants, and when people speak of him, they call him by his various titles. The chief city of the kingdom is called Minas Morgul, or Dushgoi in the language of Mordor. We will be passing by the city on our way to Mordor."</p><p>"The Morgul Lord is the Great One's most powerful vassal, and a mighty king in his own right. He commands the Western armies of Mordor, and has been away leading the troops to victory in Gondor and Rohan. He is also the leader of a secret order called the Nazgûl, which is composed of formidable vassal lords who swear allegiance to him. These men are said to be cruel, ruthless, unyielding, implacable, and full of hatred. Several of them dwell in the city with their king, while others reside elsewhere." He would not call the Nazgûl sorcerers, because he believed that they were masters of illusion and alchemists who had secret knowledge of natural philosophy, as opposed to workers of wizardry. Besides, he did not want to frighten the girl, and have to listen to her hysterics.</p><p>"The Morgul Lord rules the valley with an iron fist, and his men are quick to destroy any who dare trespass." His eyes narrowed, his strong chin tightening, Esarhaddon spat out an inditement. "Imbued with total power, the Lords of the Vale demand exorbitant tolls from any who must pass through their valley, insisting that poor merchants like me pay unreasonable taxes that suck out the life and vitality of our businesses," he growled. "But what can we do against such unmerciful tyrants? Pay their tolls and taxes, damn it, or take the long way around the Mountains of Mordor to Harad! We might as well not even try to earn an honest living if we are forced to do that! Now we have talked about this subject long enough." He scowled, his tawny face dark with anger at the avarice of the Morgul Lord and his greedy cronies. He stared at the twins for a few tension-filled moments, then suddenly turned on his heel. "Gather up your burnooses and follow me."</p>
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<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chamber of Shame</h2></a>
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    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>As the slaver strode swiftly across the hall, Elfhild and Elffled followed at a respectful distance behind him, holding their wet burnooses away from their bodies. The men had a fire blazing in the hearth, and they had shed their burnooses, laying them atop the fume hood to dry. With little regard for the twins' delicate sensitivities, the men turned their backs to them and stripped nude, adding their wet tunics, shirts, pantaloons and undergarments to the wet cloaks drying on the hearth. Flushing, the twins stared at the floor, refusing to look at the collection of three unabashedly nude male backsides. This show of maidenly virtue amused Ubri, Ganbar and Inbir, and they laughed unmercifully at the girls as they passed by.</p><p>Halting in front of the fireplace, Esarhaddon directed the girls to spread out their cloaks on the stonework. Each felt a little tremor of dread as they wondered to themselves if he, too, planned to disrobe. They were relieved when he shed only his burnoose and left the wet garment to dry with the others. </p><p>After exchanging a few words of conversation in Haradric with the men, the slaver took a lighted torch from its sconce. "Come along," he ordered the captives as he led them through a doorless entryway which stood to the right of the fireplace.</p><p>Entering the room, he lifted the torch high above his head, sweeping it round in an arc. The flame threw flickering light and shadows over the somber, musty chamber. The light fell on bare walls, where traces of the old, faded paint could still be seen on the cracked and crumbling plaster. Upon the floor lay reminders of past visitors - several shattered wine bottles; a broach with a twisted fastener; a discarded pair of torn black breeches; a few old bones from which the flesh had been picked; and other assorted detritus which had accumulated from years of careless misuse. Though the splendid frescoes which had once graced the walls and ceiling had long since faded into muted outlines, the sisters were relieved that at least none of the obscene drawings of the Dark Enemy profaned the walls.</p><p>Esarhaddon walked over to a large stone fireplace with kindling and firewood neatly stacked on the hearth. "Ah, good!" he exclaimed, a pleased expression on his face. "Though some of the lodgers of this shelter are not fastidiously clean, whoever the last ones were, at least they had courtesy enough to replenish the wood that they burnt. This will be our chamber for tonight," he informed the girls, smiling as he slid the torch into a sconce near the fume hood. "Perhaps you will be pleased to learn that your rest shall not be disturbed by the men's loud snoring, for they will be sleeping in the great hall. Now for some heat to warm us up," his deep voice rumbled good-naturedly as he dropped his saddlebags to the hearth and took a tinderbox from one of the pouches.</p><p>Lightning ripped across the sky, driving towards the land in vicious forks and streaks. For brief moments, the chamber was illuminated with white light as the heavens exploded in a silverish blue display of majesty, and then all went dark and dim once more and the only light was from the torch and the fireplace. Great blasts of thunder shook the walls, rattling the stained glass panels in the windows. Gawking at their surroundings, the sisters nervously paced about the chamber, although they did not stray far from the torch's light. </p><p>"Watch where you walk," Esarhaddon warned them as he knelt by the fireplace. "After we have eaten, the men will clear the floor of debris." Mounding up kindling in the fireplace, he struck flint to steel, sending sparks flying to catch the tinder. Soon a cheerful blaze burnt in the stone hearth, driving away the chill brought by the fading daylight. Rising to his feet, the slaver turned around to look at the twins, and with an expression of self-assured arrogance on his tawny face, he told them, "You will now disrobe. I would see my property revealed before me." </p><p>The twins gaped at him in shock, uncertain if what they heard was what he had really said. Elfhild was the first to reply. "But, my lord," she stammered, "do - do you mean you want us to take off our clothes in your presence?"</p><p>"That is what the word is commonly taken to mean," he replied, his grin telling them that he looked forward with great pleasure to their disrobing.</p><p>"What will we wear, my lord?" Elffled asked shyly, a slight flush coloring her cheeks.</p><p>"All that has been provided." He smiled gently at Elffled as he sat down on the hearth. "Each of you should realize that when I tell one of my slave women to strip before me, she considers that there are few honors higher. Elfhild, you will be the first to display your charms. Your sister will remove my boots and place them by the hearth."</p><p>"Yes, Master," Elffled softly murmured and knelt beside him.</p><p>Elfhild stared at the slaver for a few moments, and then, hanging her head, she sighed in resignation. Though she was loath to undress before this lecherous man, she might as well get it over with; if she refused, he would probably give her a whipping that was even worse than the one she received that afternoon. After tugging off her boots and setting them down on the hearth, she unwound the long sash which was tied about her waist, stretching it to its full length to allow the warmth from the fire to dry the sodden material. Loosening the drawstrings on her pantaloons and under-breeches, she pulled them off the rest of the way and spread them out to dry on the warm stone. She felt the torrid heat of Esarhaddon's searching glance scorching her, hotter than the fire which blazed in the fireplace, and her face flushed a deep shade of red. Cringing inwardly, she gathered up the hem of her tunic and slowly rolled it over her head and arms, wincing as every movement brought a resurgence of the pain in her back. Her hands trembled as she tried to summon the courage to take off the last garment, the white undertunic embroidered with runes of protection, which was the only thing remaining to protect her modesty. </p><p>"Come now, why do you hesitate to reveal yourself to me?" Esarhaddon demanded impatiently. He picked up the riding crop and used the wide leather tongue to lift the hem of her undertunic up to her waist. Elfhild gasped in dismay, while the slaver gasped in delight. "At long last my eyes behold your milk-white belly which is set like a pearl above your topaz-colored curls."</p><p>Knowing she had been defeated, Elfhild capitulated completely and wrenched her undertunic up over her head and arms. He had seen everything that there was to see anyway. What was the use in fighting him now? Tears streaming down her cheeks, she stood there naked before the slaver, her head bowed in shame, her damp hair hanging limply over her shoulder. Her clammy skin had turned to goose-flesh, chilled by the dank air of the chamber. She sniffed again and stood there mutely as his eyes studied her body.</p><p>Esarhaddon drew his breath in sharply as he saw her nude body revealed before him. "Beautiful," he murmured in a voice so thick with lust that it sounded as though he were in agony. True, she was dreadfully thin, the skin stretched tightly over delicate protruding ribs, but she would fill out quite nicely in the languor of the harem.</p><p>"Turn around," he told her, turning his finger around in a circle. "I would see the rest of you." </p><p>Stroking the tip of his beard, he studied her movements, watching approvingly as she shyly rotated in place until she faced away from him. He rose to his feet and traced his fingers over the red welts that streaked her back. His touches brought fresh pain to her seared flesh, and Elfhild bit her lip to keep from whimpering. Esarhaddon reached over to his saddlebags, opened one of the pouches and took out a small jar of unguent. </p><p>"This will help with the pain," he told her as he rubbed the cool, herbal-scented cream over her skin. "You will find towels and fresh clothing in the saddlebags." After dismissing Elfhild, he turned to Elffled, who had been cowering near the wall. "Little flower, now it is your turn to change out of your rain-soaked clothing and undress before me." His eyes half closed with lust, he murmured in delight as he saw her beauty revealed to his gaze. Such magnificent wenches, he thought to himself, with their clear blue eyes, their skin unblemished save for moles and freckles, lips which were soft and made for kissing, and their curvaceous shapes... Ah, he must not allow himself to envision their sensuous bodies writhing beneath his thrusting hips, for he well knew that things which were unattainable were all the more desirable.</p><p>After Elffled had dressed, Esarhaddon dismissed her to sit beside her sister upon the hearth. He took another towel and a clean set of clothing from his saddlebags and walked away to change in a shadowy area of the chamber where the light barely reached. He had considered returning to the two slave girls clad in nothing but the towel wrapped about his loins. This would give them their first clear sight of the bulging muscles of his arms and the sculptured outlines of his broad chest. That should heat up these cold little maidens of the North and set their blood to racing! He was contemplating their chaste, maidenly reaction when he looked down at the bulge of his protruding stomach. The sight was always sobering. He decided that this, along with his robust manhood, might best be revealed at a later time. He shook his head in disgust. He was a large, tall man, heavyset and prone to carrying too much weight. He fingered the flab on his middle, rolling it between his fingers, and then lightly slapped it, watching the fat as it jiggled like meat jelly. As he dressed, he promised himself that he would make a concentrated effort to cut back on what he ate... soon... very soon.</p><p>Returning to the hearth, Esarhaddon snapped his fingers, summoning Elfhild and Elffled to his side. "You are not required to serve the supper this evening, for tonight's meal is Inbir's domain. However, you must clean and dry the diners' hands before and after the meal as usual." He strode away towards the entrance to the great hall. Subdued, both sisters dutifully followed three paces behind, as he had taught them was the proper custom for the women of the South.</p><p>Looking up from the brazier where he had been seasoning a pot of lentil soup, Inbir rose to his feet as the slaver stepped into the room. Ubri and Ganbar, who had been talking in muted tones, also stood up. Bowing their heads, they touched their hands to their chests and exchanged greetings with Esarhaddon, careful to suppress any knowing smiles.</p><p>"What savory dish has the captain of the cooking pot prepared for us this night?" Esarhaddon boomed out amiably. "Ah, I think I can guess by the aroma of the garlic which tickles my nostrils and sets the juices working in my stomach!"</p><p>"My lord," Inbir announced, a smile lighting up his face, "you are correct! A warm and steaming pot of rice and red lentil soup, seasoned with bay, garlic, coriander and cumin, awaits your pleasure."</p><p>"Ah, good fellow," Esarhaddon remarked good-naturedly as he walked over to Inbir and put his arm around the young man's shoulders, "as a cook, you are worth your weight in gold."</p><p>"Thank you, my lord. I am always glad when my work is satisfactory." Inbir looked down shyly, an embarrassed flush at the unexpected attention reddening his tawny features.</p><p>"I look forward to the meal," Esarhaddon told him as he squeezed his shoulder. Turning, he joined the other two men on the rugs which had been spread a comfortable distance from the fire. "Now," he raised his arms and spread them expansively, signaling to the other men that they could sit, "let the meal commence!"</p><p>Soon the Shakh, Ubri and Ganbar were seated cross-legged on the rugs as they anticipated the arrival of a hot meal on a foul and stormy night. After the twins had lathed the men's hands with water and dried them, Inbir brought in the steaming pot of lentil soup and placed it on a mat in front of the men. Next he brought a large tray of hard crackers, some dried meat and fruit, and set it before them before taking his place on the rug. Each man had his own spoon and they all took turns either ladling out a portion or dipping bread into the common pot.</p><p>As the men ate, they quietly talked among themselves. Elfhild and Elffled had been directed to sit on a rug at a distance away from the Southrons. There they had been told to wait until the men had finished eating before they could receive their portion of food. Having learned that talking without permission was considered an extreme breech of good manners, the sisters silently studied the patterns of the carpet beneath them. They were both stinging with far too much shame and embarrassment to do more than cast a few halfheartedly curious glances over at the Southrons, dreading to meet the sneering ridicule in the men's eyes.</p><p>The sudden sharp snap of Esarhaddon's fingers brought the twins quickly to their feet. The supper was finished and they must hasten to rinse away the remnants of the meal from the diners' hands. Moving quietly among the men, Elfhild and Elffled tended to their work without spilling a single drop of water on the rug. Once their task was accomplished, they were allowed to take the remainder of the soup and picked over pieces of dried stuff back to their place. </p><p>After the coffee was brewed, the men sat about, talking amiably in Haradric to each other. Ganbar had just launched into another of his long tales, this time about an olive oil merchant who had been euchred by a seller of lamps. "Just as the lamp seller was ushered into the merchant's hall..." Ganbar related enthusiastically, waving his arms in the air for emphasis. Half listening to the story which he had already heard several times in the past, Esarhaddon inhaled the rich aroma of the thick brew. His eyes slanted to the side, taking in the view of the two Rohirric girls, who were huddled about the pot of soup. </p><p>Esarhaddon was very pleased with himself. He had made far better progress with these slaves than he had first believed possible. The Rohirrim were a stiff-necked, proud, haughty people, and even their women put up a tenacious fight to retain their liberty. The most stubborn, though, would be forced to submit eventually. Those few who did not faced a future so bleak that they would wish themselves dead... He would not allow himself to think of such lovely women ending their lives as breeders in an orc pit.</p><p>Letting his thoughts wander to more pleasant matters, Esarhaddon mused, "Ah, the coffee is good." When he had first recaptured them, the slave trader had given this pair the choice of slavery or death. Though he would never have carried through with his threats, they would not know it. He would let them go on believing that if they had refused his offer, he would have slain them. At least the twins would have the consolation of thinking that they had some choice in the matter. Sometimes new slaves were more docile when they believed that they had willingly accepted slavery. He chuckled when he thought of how angry they would be if they knew of this deception.</p><p>He had harbored plans for them all along - even before they escaped. When they reached Nurn, he would buy them, have them trained and educated at his villa, and then sell them for a much greater price than what he had paid for them. He had several potential buyers in mind who would be willing to pay the high price that he would demand.</p><p>"…And the merchant took a stout stick and drove both the seller of lamps and his catamite from his house... but he kept the djinn and the donkey." The men laughed uproariously at the conclusion of Ganbar's tale, and Esarhaddon joined with them, though he could recite the tale almost by heart.</p><p>"Shakh," Inbir told him as he rose to his feet, "the hour grows late, and if I am to have your chamber prepared for you by the time you retire, I need to make haste. Now if you will excuse me, I will attend to it."</p><p>"Aye, good Inbir, always thinking of my comfort. That quality in a servant is always admirable." Esarhaddon dismissed him with a benign smile and turned his gaze to the twins. "Now, my little beauties, the time arrives for your nightly draught of wine. The tensions of the day will flee from you, you will feel more relaxed, and slumber will come easily to you," he told them softly, his dark eyes half veiled by his heavy lids. </p><p>The sisters were sure that he planned to drug them again, and he did not even bother to conceal his intentions. The thought of protesting came to their minds, but what good would it do? He would only force them to drink it. At least if they were asleep, they could forget the cruel world for a while in the realm of dreams.</p>
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<a name="section0023"><h2>23. The Caress of Silent Lips</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild<br/><br/>When the slaver and the twins returned to the second chamber, they found that the floor around the hearth had been cleared of debris. Stoked and supplied with more wood, the fire blazed brightly in the fireplace, cracking and popping merrily. In an obvious attempt to provide privacy, a large oilskin had been hung over the doorway, blocking out the light and much of the noise from the other room. The crimson and gold rug had been spread over the floor near the hearth, and the shakh's pillow, quilt, and woolen blankets awaited on the carpet, beckoning invitingly. Though it was warm and comfortable by the fireplace, occasionally the storm drove a gusty draft of air through the broken windowpanes, raising gooseflesh over the skin. The slaver did not seem to mind that minor annoyance, though, for when he glanced over the room, he smiled in satisfaction.<br/><br/>"Between the two of you and the fire, I should stay warm enough tonight, although I would find it more enjoyable if there were more meat on your bones." Esarhaddon grinned at the two girls as he warmed his back by the fire. The twins smiled nervously, evading his gaze and keeping their eyes fixed firmly upon the floor. "Now the time has come for us to retire." The arrogant ring of absolute self-confidence in his deep, commanding voice warned the girls that it would be foolish to defy him. His eyes slanted over to Elffled as he sat down on the hearth. "Remove my boots." <br/><br/>"Yes, my lord," Elffled murmured as she dutifully moved over to him. Kneeling, she tugged off first one boot and then the other. Standing up, Esarhaddon unwound the long sash from around his waist and then drew his long tunic over his head and arms. His fingers lightly grazed over Elfhild's outstretched hands as he gave her both articles of clothing to place on the hearth. She pretended not to notice his touch as she quickly folded the garments.</p><p>Now clad in only his breeches, Esarhaddon sat down cross-legged on the carpet. "Strip down to your undergarments and join me," his voice was a husky invitation as he turned over on his back and slid the pillow under his head. "Elfhild on my right and Elffled on my left, two lilies on one stem." The embodiment of chastity, they looked so unbelievably innocent as they lowered themselves gracefully to the carpet. "Do not be so shy," he chuckled as his powerful arms slid under their slender waists and pulled them to nestle against his sides. "Too thin," he thought as his fingers bumped over their rib cages and moved down to feel their protruding hip bones. "Their skinny arses need more flesh." This was an inadequacy which he vowed would soon be remedied. <br/><br/>"Two virgins, prime flesh for deflowering..." Esarhaddon thought to himself. Women were considered as part of the spoils of war, and when a man raped and deflowered a virgin of an enemy tribe, it was considered as just retribution. Should a child be bred upon her body, the woman's swollen belly would serve as a further reminder to her tribe that they had been defeated. Though the triumph was not so great as slaying an enemy warrior, still tribal honor and pride had partially been satisfied, and the revenge was very, very sweet. Though the temptation was tremendous, Esarhaddon knew he would not be the man to claim the red flower of the twins' virginity. As much as he longed to despoil that rich unopened treasure, he valued gold more highly. He prided himself upon his supreme self-control and, while he would enjoy taking their sweet innocence, he would do nothing more than dally with them now and then.</p><p>***</p><p>Elfhild lay beside the slaver, helplessly trapped in his strong arms. He held her so tightly and possessively that she found breathing to be somewhat difficult. Squirming, she craned her neck upward. Away from the warm glow of the fire, shadows brooded ominously. Oft since they had begun traveling through this valley, she had felt the most peculiar sensation of being watched. The feeling had abated during the storm, for when one is being pelted by driving rain, the mind tends to forget about invisible watchers and unseen eyes. But now, in this dank, gloomy chamber, she was reminded once again of that nagging worry that someone was spying upon her. <br/><br/>A distant crack of thunder startled Elfhild. Frightened, she shrank back against Esarhaddon. Suddenly the heavy weight of his thick, muscular arms was a comfort instead of a threat. Surely he would protect her from danger! She looked boldly into the darkness, her eyes flashing a challenge which, thankfully, was never met. A slight smile flickered over her lips and she nestled her head into the curve of her arm.<br/><br/>She wondered why she was not asleep yet. She was tired, yes, but it was the weariness caused by a long day's journey and not the all-encompassing stupor brought on by the drugged wine. Then she realized - she was not drugged! How could the slaver have made such a mistake? The sleeping potion had worked its somnolent spell upon Elffled. Elfhild was baffled. Then an idea occurred to her, abrupt and unexpected like lightning's brilliant flash - maybe Esarhaddon was testing her!<br/><br/>Perhaps he wanted to see if she would attempt to escape. He knew that she longed for freedom and chafed under the yoke of slavery. He must surely think her a fool then, for she would have to be completely mad to try fleeing through the winding corridors of the moldering castle, dragging her drugged sister in tow. No, Elfhild had reluctantly accepted defeat, even though she hated to admit it. She would pass the slaver's accursed test of her own free will, just as she had accepted slavery when she could have chosen death.</p><p>When she was confident that Esarhaddon had fallen asleep, Elfhild allowed herself to relax. As he softly snored, his breath gently rustled her hair and occasionally his fingers twitched and jerked spasmodically upon the soft flesh of her stomach. Despite the soft carpet beneath her, Elfhild was uncomfortable. The soothing balm that Esarhaddon had spread over her back earlier seemed to be losing some of its potency, and her back was stinging from the stripes he had given her. She shifted her body, moving her hips slightly. The slaver moaned in his sleep and tightened his hold on her. She froze in place, terrified that her movement had awakened him. Sighing heavily, he rolled over on his back, falling against Elffled, who groaned and turned to the side. His eyelashes fluttered but his eyes did not open. <br/><br/>Unable to sleep, Elfhild sat up cautiously and looked down upon the Southern scoundrel's face, illuminated softly by the fire's waning light. How peaceful he looked, his eyes closed in slumber, a slight smile curving up the corners of his mouth! But yet, even in repose, the slaver radiated power and might, like a resting wolf. His features serene, he looked almost gentle. One of his hands twitched and then was still. As he snored softly, his lips rippled, flapping a little as they opened and closed. Shuddering once, he brushed his hand across his mouth and sighed heavily. The snoring stopped, only to resume again as his wide stomach rose and fell, its rounded curve like a small knoll. <br/><br/>Though some would consider Esarhaddon far too fat to be called handsome, Elfhild thought that the extra weight made him all that more attractive. She sighed ruefully as she studied his peaceful face. What a powerful man he was, so strong and muscular, in spite of his bulky middle! Oh, if only his personality matched his good looks, and his kindness were as generous as his belly!<br/><br/>The sudden, inexplicable urge to touch his face came over her, and her fingers hovered in the air above his cheek, twitching as she reached out for him. Then she realized what a ridiculous, utterly foolish idea it was to assume that a mere slave had any right whatsoever to touch her master without his permission! She drew her hand back as though it had been scorched by fire. He could turn on her in a moment, furious, enraged like a bull which will attack anything when he is provoked.</p><p>Angry tears stung her eyes as she browbeat herself for allowing Esarhaddon's handsome appearance to beguile her into harboring feelings of affection towards him. Oh, why had she been struck by such a horrifying desire to touch the very man who had brought her so much pain and humiliation? Who had threatened to leave her tied to a tree if she did not surrender to him? Who had been on the verge of beheading her sister if she did not submit to his will? She should want to gouge his eyes out with his own dagger or plunge his scimitar deep into his chest, <em>not caress his face!</em></p><p>Rolling to her knees, Elfhild rose to her feet. Sullen and resentful, hating both the slaver and herself for her moment of weakness, she did not wish to return to his side to stew the rest of the night in a fitful slumber. She decided to pace around the room for a while to clear her thoughts. If Esarhaddon awoke, she would simply tell him that she had to answer the call of nature.</p><p>Like it or not, the fat Southron was her master, and she was his slave. Perhaps she should treat him with the respect and courtesy befitting a lord of her people. Of course, in truth, his people were her people now, because she would be living amongst them. She was reminded of how little she knew of the Haradrim. Would she fit in amongst her new master's household? She understood that these people could have more than one wife. She knew she would feel very awkward wedding a man who already had several others, and she would feel even worse being only his mistress. Surely the other women would be jealous of her and think her an outsider!<br/><br/>And then there was the matter of her sister. The only way they could stay together was if they had the same owner. Being brought up in a monogamous society, Elfhild could not even comprehend sharing a man with her twin. Would they fight all the time, each one jealous of the attention that their husband paid to the other? Elfhild hoped that they would be treated as equals. She could not bear the thoughts of continual war with Elffled - the guilt that she would feel if their master favored her over her twin; and the resentment that would eat at her if he loved her sister more.<br/><br/>In a black mood of despair and frustration, Elfhild wandered away from the hearth and slowly made her way to the wall with the windows. Prowling the shadows, she sulked and brooded like the sullen storm outside. "Damn!" she cursed as she stepped upon a piece of glass and cut her big toe. Angrily she cast the glass away from her, not caring if the slaver heard the shard tinkling as it skidded across the floor. Her mood became even more foul when she felt blood seeping between her toes, making them feel damp and sticky. <br/><br/>Sighing heavily, she leaned against the wall beneath one of the tall windows. The storm had quieted, and a gentle breeze blew a light mist of rain through the broken window. The cool droplets felt refreshing against her anger-heated skin. Her toe continued to ooze blood, as small cuts are wont to do, and she wished she had a strip of cloth to bandage the minor wound. Gnawing her lower lip, she looked longingly to the saddlebags. She could use one of Esarhaddon's handkerchiefs as a makeshift bandage, but after he found out what she had done, he would be wroth with her. If she burned the rag when she was finished with it, he would notice its absence and demand to know who had taken it.<br/><br/>While Elfhild fretted over her injured foot, the tempest had begun to brew again, this time with an even stronger vengeance. Driven upon mighty winds, the dark, angry clouds surged forward, sending pelting rain lashing against the castle and surrounding hills with a savage fury. Gone was the gentle drizzle of rain, replaced by a deluge of sheeting water. Gasping as the chill droplets blew in through the broken window, Elfhild was forced to move, lest she find herself drenched. Great forks of lightning split the heavens, making the night seem as bright as day. Brilliant white light streamed through the tall, arched windows of the chamber, rending the shadows asunder and sending long pinnacles of light blazing across the marble floor. Elfhild cringed against the wall as a mighty explosion of thunder rattled the broken windows and shook the castle to its foundations.<br/><br/>The wind shrieked around the ancient structure, its mournful cry like the baleful howling of hungry wolves as they gather for the hunt. Another burst of lightning raked across the skies and filled the chamber with silvery radiance. Elfhild's breath caught in her throat and her heart seemed to stop in her chest. Caught within the lightning's argent glow was a woman clad in a gown of palest white. A silver circlet rested upon her brow, and her long, dark hair streamed over her shoulders and down her back to fall at her hips. As the ensuing rumble of thunder shook the walls, the chamber was plunged into ebony darkness once more. Yet the glowing apparition did not vanish as the boom of the thunder rolled away into the distance. Praying that her vision had deceived her, Elfhild rubbed her hand across her eyes. When she looked again, the spectre had drawn closer.<br/><br/>Instinctively Elfhild recoiled. She took a step backwards, only to feel her heel hitting against the wall. There was no place to escape! Her fingers clawed the cold, crumbling plaster behind her and dug particles of chalky dust which wedged uncomfortably under her short fingernails. Her chest heaved in stark terror, her breath coming in quick, ragged gasps. Her eyes darted to the hearth at the other side of the room where Esarhaddon and her sister lay sleeping. She found to her dismay that the fire had burnt down and nothing remained in the inky darkness save the glowing red of the dying embers, which gleamed like the eyes of some angry beast.<br/><br/>Elfhild felt alone, abandoned in the gloomy chamber. A tingle of icy fear tickled down her back. Suddenly she was very cold. She whipped her head around, praying that the death-spawned pale spectre was no longer there. Then a fear filled her, deeper and more dreadful than any she had ever known in her life. The phantom was still there! The ghost's eyes were innocent and sad as she beckoned in some gristly, macabre welcome. All the color drained from Elfhild's face and she felt a wave of dizziness flood over her.<br/><br/>Weaving on her feet, she trembled in abject terror as the spectre seemed to float effortlessly across the floor. Halting before her, the maiden put a graceful hand to the bodice of her white gown. The wind sighed mournfully outside as the sorrowful shade drew her hand away and extended it to Elfhild, revealing a palm coated in brilliant crimson gore. Elfhild's eyes were drawn against her will to the spectre's chest. There the filmy gown was rent, exposing a horrible wound which now gushed with a fountain of blood. The scarlet liquid poured through the gossamer fabric, soaking the tattered garment and dripping down to splash upon the floor. Elfhild opened her mouth to scream, but her throat constricted in a spasm as though an icy hand had silenced the sound. <br/><br/>A cold ghost-light surrounded the phantom's form, and as Elfhild lifted her gaze from the spirit's bleeding heart, she saw that silvery tears glistened upon her cheeks. As the translucent spirit drew even nearer, Elfhild felt her body growing colder as though her very life were rushing away. She must escape! She must flee from this horrible phantasm which wandered the night! Yet when she tried to dart to the side, she discovered that her legs were as rigid as flesh locked in death's cold embrace.<br/><br/>Her melancholy eyes pleading for understanding, the ghostly maiden reached a bloody hand towards Elfhild's chest. Consumed with mindless terror, Elfhild dug her fingers into the decaying plaster of the wall behind her until the tips bled. She stared down in horror as the phosphorescent hand lightly rested upon her bosom, staining her tunic with crimson and making her chest glow with silver light. The spirit's pale gray eyes seemed to light up from their shadowy hollows as though in some unholy recognition.   <br/><br/>Elfhild's eyes rolled back in her head as she sagged to the floor. Before the darkness overcame her, she felt a gentle kiss on her lips as a lovely, melodious voice whispered softly, "You will join us one day."</p><p>***</p><p>Elfhild's eyelids fluttered open, and she tried to focus her vision on the yellow flames of a torch which cast its flickering light over her face. As her vision cleared, she saw above her the towering forms of Esarhaddon and his three men. Remembering the horrifying experience with the shade, she looked down at her chest and was amazed to find that the blood had vanished. She rubbed her fingertips, expecting to find her nails broken and her skin ragged and torn, but much to her astonishment, her fingers were uninjured. Had it all been a dream? But… but she could have sworn she was awake! Stars glittered before her eyes, and she feared that she was on the verge of swooning once again.<br/><br/>"Is she hurt?" Esarhaddon's sour voice growled loudly, echoing in the empty chamber. <br/><br/>"Hold the torch closer, my lord, so that I may see better," Ganbar replied as he knelt beside the supine form. "No, no, she does not seem to be." He looked up at the slaver questioningly.<br/><br/>"My lord, do you wish me to administer the usual punishment for a slave who tries to escape?" Captain Ubri asked as he peered down at the girl. His fingers clenched and unclenched the handle of the flail which he carried at his belt. "Perhaps she needs to be taught another lesson!" he added, a cold expression of contempt upon his thin face.<br/><br/>"I was not trying to escape!" Elfhild whimpered, propping herself up on her elbow. "I swear it!"<br/><br/>"Do not lie to me, slave girl," Esarhaddon warned menacingly, pressing the toe of his boot against her hip. "What were you doing over here? Did you think you could escape through the corner tower?"<br/><br/>"No, Master, no!" Elfhild struggled to her knees and crawled to Esarhaddon's feet. "I… I had a terrible nightmare, and I must have been sleepwalking!" She was convinced that the ghostly maiden had been real, but she did not want to tell the Southrons this! Not after falling victim to the enchantments of the Morgulduin! Having two bizarre experiences in one day… the Southrons might think she was mad!</p><p>"Sleepwalking?" Esarhaddon laughed as he looked down at her. "A convenient excuse, and a pathetic lie. Must I punish you for both trying to escape and telling falsehoods?"</p><p>"I speak the truth, Master!" Elfhild lied. "Sleepwalking runs in my family. Just ask my sister when she awakes." She looked up to the slaver with earnest, tear-filled eyes. "Why, several days before you recaptured us, Elffled woke up to find me missing. She found me some time later, wandering through the forest, lost in dream."</p><p>Scowling, Esarhaddon regarded her for a long moment, pondering her story. "The Morgul Vale is dangerous for a sleepwalker, and if this continues, I will be forced to make you sleep in chains. This valley is a strange place, a bizarre anomaly where the natural laws do not quite hold. Do not ask me why this is, for I cannot explain it." His expression softened as he looked down at the frightened girl, who groveled so piteously at his feet. "There are many natural poisons which exist in our world, and I suspect that the waters here are filled with poison that causes delusions and hallucinations. Possibly the plenitude of unusual vegetation which grows in this valley exudes a gaseous vapor that spreads over a wide area and confuses the mind. You must never expose yourself to such peril. Stay close and we will protect you. Now get on your feet and return to my blankets."</p><p>"Thank you, Master," Elfhild replied gratefully. "I am glad for your protection in this strange, frightening place." She thanked the Gods that her ruse had actually worked. Perhaps that was the way one survived in Mordor, by speaking flattering words and telling convincing lies…</p>
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<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Unseen Eyes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>When the slaver and his party departed from the foreboding castle and began their ride down the steep path, the dawning sun had just peeked through the scowling dark blue and gray clouds which hung over the Mountains of Shadow. The overcast skies portended yet more rain, and the memory of the havoc of last night's storm was still fresh. The torrential downpour of the night before had left its mark. Branches that had been ripped from mighty boles lay strewn haphazardly upon the ground. A number of trees had been wrenched from the earth, leaving their naked, exposed roots still clinging to the soil like broken fingers. As the riders made their way down the trail, they found that a mighty pine had fallen across the road. With much grumbling and cursing, Ganbar and Inbir dismounted, took their axes, and began chopping out a path through the mangled trunk.</p><p>As the entourage waited, Elfhild and Elffled looked with curiosity at the rugged terrain about them. They had been unable to see their surroundings clearly the previous evening, for the sheets of rain had obscured their vision. The damp, cool air had a crisp freshness to it, and the sisters inhaled deeply of the mingled scents of earth and evergreens. Though the wounds of the long darkness were far from healed, still the girls found that this land of Ithilien was a fair one. Well-watered and cloaked with woodlands, the foothills provided cover and browse for the many creatures of the forest. The hills fell away to gentle hollows and valleys where long ago farmers had tilled their fields and villages had thrived. Far below them, they could see the Morgulduin shining like a blue and silver ribbon, the sun making the rippling waters shimmer as though diamonds floated on their surface. </p><p>When the road was at last cleared of the fallen tree, the party resumed its journey down the hill. The brooding castle far behind them, both sisters prayed that they would never see the place again. Though relieved to be on the road once more, Elfhild's mind could not help returning to her terrifying experience of the night before. She looked over to her sister, who smiled gently back at her. "Elffled seems well enough today, as she should," Elfhild thought to herself. "She was not the one who saw a ghost!" </p><p>There was no use in trying to talk to Elffled about the ghost that morning. Esarhaddon had demanded that they speak only in Westron, and since the men could understand every word that was said, they had no secrets. Elfhild missed having long conversations with her sister, and this lack of closeness added to her growing feeling of isolation. When they reached the caravan, she hoped that the slaver would allow them to rejoin the rest of the captives. Perhaps there they could talk in peace. She had so much to tell Aunt Leofgifu.</p><p>At least this morning their wrists would not be bound together. The Shakh's men still led their horses, but the sisters did not mind that. There was no reason given for this new privilege. Possibly Esarhaddon and Captain Ubri had decided that it was far too dangerous for the girls to travel down the steep hill and try to control their horses with their hands bound. Whatever the reason, the twins hoped the practice was a permanent one. </p><p>They had just maneuvered around a sharp switchback on the trail and came to a gentler section of terrain. Sniffing, Ganbar wiped his nose with the side of a finger and glanced up at the sky. Completely unsolicited and totally unexpected, he told Elfhild, "In the land where I was born, we seldom see such storms as the one last night. In the desert reaches of my homeland, it might not rain for years. Other places, which are better favored, there will be rains in the summer, but the majority, only in the winter. I am continually amazed that the people here take the rains for granted, while in Harad, every life-giving drop is precious! I should like to live in this land, for the water is so abundant and the land seems so fertile. Perhaps I will come back someday..."</p><p>Fantasizing about having his own villa in Gondor, he turned away from Elfhild and stared into space. He envisioned walls lined with blue-and-white tiles depicting tiny gardens and fountains. There would be a fine house and stable, barns and outbuildings, quarters for the slaves, orchards and vineyards, and well-stocked storehouses. Most of all, he thought of the harem section, which would be filled with beautiful women, many as fair-skinned and lovely as the two maids riding beside him. He imagined himself lounging on a great divan while luscious, nude slave girls played erotic melodies on their instruments and other equally delightful girls danced for him. As their lithe bodies undulated to the rhythm, he could see the supple muscles rippling in their arms, stomachs and thighs, and the cheeks of their buttocks sliding over each other, sensuous and inviting to the touch. His pleasant fantasies were shattered when Captain Ubri announced matter-of-factly, "We will soon be down this miserable trail and back on the main road."</p><p>"Aye, Captain," Ganbar agreed, glumly tugging on his earring as he imagined a djinn with the face of Ubri, who laughed fiendishly and turned his villa into a bluish cloud of smoke.</p><p>To the right the riders saw a stream which raced, splashing and gurgling, over rocky ledges and emptied into a shallow stream near the base of the hill. While the usually placid stretch of water had been a raging torrent the night before, overflowing its banks to tear at the soil, that morning the stream was once again within its banks. Though the current still moved swiftly, its waters tinged with brown, the bed was so shallow that there was little danger that anyone would be washed downstream. </p><p>Halting, the slaver and his first lieutenant watched the rush of the water and then looked back at the rest of the group. "Men, we will all take turns bathing. While two of us guard the women and have some breakfast, the others will take baths. The Captain and I will be first." He looked over to Ganbar and Inbir. "Take the women downstream and have them prepare breakfast."</p><p>After all the men had finished bathing and broken their fast, it was time for the sisters to have their turn. While Ganbar and Inbir stayed at the temporary camp guarding the horses and cleaning up after breakfast, the Shakh and his captain took the twins to the stream bank. As they stood gazing out at the sun sparkling on the stream, the girls glanced uncertainly over to the two men, fearful that the loathsome slaver would command them to turn the simple act of bathing into some sort of erotic spectacle. </p><p>"Go on! Why do you tarry?" His eyebrows arching questioningly, Esarhaddon gave them a perplexed look as he motioned with his hand towards the stream.</p><p>"Please, Master, do not make us wash in front of everyone!" Elfhild pled desperately, knowing she would probably be punished for making such a demand.</p><p>"My little beauty, what should I want to look? Have I not seen everything you have before now?" he returned, his eyes raking hotly over their bodies and stripping them of their clothes.</p><p>"Please, Master," Elfhild begged.</p><p>"Captain Ubri has not seen us naked, Master," Elffled grumbled petulantly, her eyes never leaving the ground. "Surely you would not have us displayed in such a demeaning manner! Is it not true that the men of the South value modesty in women?"</p><p>"At least she has been paying attention!" Esarhaddon laughed heartily as he turned to the captain. Greatly amused at the slave girl, Ubri joined in his laughter. "What you say is true to this extent, little beauty," the Shakh told her as he walked over to stand beside her. Slowly he ran a hand down over her pantaloons, pausing to rub her bottom, obviously relishing the feel of the firm contours. Elffled gasped, and the slaver felt the firm muscles beneath his hand stiffen at his touch.</p><p>Frowning, Elfhild noticed the spark of lust in the Captain's eyes as he watched the slaver and her sister. While Ubri appeared to be paying rapt attention to every word of his master, his eyes were drawn to Esarhaddon's broad, hairy hand as it groped the slave girl's bottom. With distaste, Elfhild realized that the ardent prong beneath the bodyguard's pantaloons was obscenely strutted straight out before him. She wondered if the men were planning to ravish them on the stream bank, and when the deed was done, share them with the other two before leaving.</p><p>Apparently in no hurry to relinquish Elffled's bottom, the slaver pressed, probed and kneaded her taut flesh as he spoke again in his deep, husky voice. "The men of my tribe will not allow their wives, concubines and slave girls to go out in public unless they are guarded and protected, and many women wear veils to conceal their beauty from the eyes of men not of their family. But until they are sold, barbarian slaves such as you are available for the gaze of any man's eyes. Perhaps one look at your charms will bring an eager buyer." </p><p>Giving her bottom a stout slap, Esarhaddon boomed out a loud chuckle as he released her and then turned to Ubri. "Captain, we will give the little houris privacy while they take their baths. Though I anticipate no trouble from orcs or anyone else, still you and I will guard them. Expect a very dull and tedious time while we wait." Elffled's shy, questioning eyes caught his. "At a discrete distance, of course, little flower. I promised you privacy, did I not? Surely, you do not think I would break my promise?" An offended expression upon his face, the slaver groaned as though he were greatly put upon. "Come along, Captain. Let us find a good vantage spot from which we can watch for enemies." </p><p>"Aye, Shakh." Ubri looked down, his appearance as disheartened as his master's.</p><p>"Do not be so downcast, Captain. We will make the best of our exile with a skin of wine. Perhaps when we return, Inbir will have tea waiting for us." Esarhaddon slapped Ubri across the shoulders as they walked off together into the trees.</p><p>Knowing Lord Esarhaddon and his lieutenant all too well, the twins tarried a long time before beginning to disrobe. When they were confident that the men really had left, they slipped out of their clothing. Their willowy forms now nude, they shivered as they stood ankle-deep in the water, allowing their bodies to adjust to the temperature. Wading farther out, Elfhild sat down with a sigh in the knee-deep water and let the soothing current be a balm to her tortured back. How peaceful it seemed with the only sounds the chirping of birds and the pleasant babbling of the stream.</p><p>"Are you going to sit there all day, sister?" Elffled teased as she tossed a small cake of soap from one hand to the other. "There is not much soap here, and if you do not make haste, I might use it all up!"</p><p>Groaning, Elfhild reluctantly stood up, the cool water delightfully soothing as it cascaded over her body. After lathering herself up, Elfhild tossed the cake of soap over to her sister. </p><p>In addition to a small pat of soap, the slaver had allowed them to use his own towels with the monogram of the House of Huzziya embroidered in the bottom right corner. "What an absolute luxury to have such wonderful things as soap and fine towels here in the wilderness! Lord Esarhaddon must be very wealthy to be able to afford to give such niceties to slaves! Only in the house of a thane could such amenities be found back in the Mark! His house in Nurn must be very grand!" Elffled mused as she splashed water on her soapy body. She hoped a kind, rich man would buy her and her sister. Perhaps she might never learn to love her future master, but at least she and Elfhild would be well provided for all their days.</p><p>Their bathing finished, the twins talked quietly between themselves. This was the first chance they had been able to speak to each other in their own language with any degree of privacy. The sisters were eager to share their experiences since they had been recaptured. Elfhild told her twin about the dreadful apparition she had seen the night before. Elffled was sure that her sister had returned to her childhood habit of sleepwalking, while Elfhild insisted that she had been awake and really had seen a ghost. Had not Lord Esarhaddon said that the valley was a strange place?</p><p>As they talked, the girls gradually felt their tensions relaxing and their spirits lifting. For a while, at least, they could be free to be themselves without worrying about constant scrutiny and endless protocol. Soon they were playing in the water like children, laughing and splashing each other. Giggling, almost giddy with the temporary freedom, the girls threw water at each other's faces. Impetuously, Elfhild gave a mighty kick and sent a wave of water raining down over her sister. </p><p>Unbeknownst to the twins, Esarhaddon and Ubri had not gone far. Angling away from the stream, they had stealthily crept back from another direction. Selecting a location from whence they could see the girls without being seen, the two men crouched low behind a dense growth of heavy underbrush and spied upon the two unsuspecting girls.</p><p>"Captain," Esarhaddon whispered as his eyes narrowed predatorily, "what do you think of them?"</p><p>"My lord, they are everything you said they would be and more! The buyers will be hot for them!" Ubri exclaimed, his tongue flicking at his thin lips, almost salivating with lust.</p><p>"Captain, if you will, envision how lovely they will be after their unseemly body hair has been removed and their ivory skin has been softened with perfumed oils!"</p><p>"I am, lord, I am!" Ubri tried to control the desire in his voice, but he was almost panting, his eyes bulging from their sockets. "Many men would die for a chance to plunder the untouched treasures between their legs and draw the ruby wine of their virginity!"</p><p>Grinning, the slaver put his hand on Ubri's forearm. "Captain, we do not want anyone to die for that pleasure. We want them to pay, and pay outrageously."</p><p>Exploring the course of the stream, the twins waded out into the deeper water. As the sun streamed down through the barren branches, the light seemed to turn the two beauties into mystical nymphs dancing in the sunbeams. Squealing playfully, Elfhild grabbed her twin's shoulders and dunked her under the water. When Elffled ascended to the surface, her hair was a thick wet curtain over her face. Bending down, she plunged her head back in the water, then flung it back, sending her soaked golden hair flying and scattering droplets of water which sparkled in the sun.</p><p>Oblivious to their silent audience, the sisters splashed and played in the stream, losing all track of time. Her cupped hands skimming beneath the surface of the stream, Elfhild launched sprays of water at her sister's face. Giggling wildly, Elffled retaliated with a series of high kicks that cut through the water and splashed her sister square in the face. Elfhild laughed so hard that she clutched her side, but then the laughter died in her throat when a slight movement on the other side of the stream caught her eye. Squinting, she peered across the water and into the trees beyond.  Suddenly a monstrous shape stumbled through the trees and fell just inches from the water. </p><p>"It is an orc!" Elfhild screamed.</p>
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<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Intruder in a Quiet Glen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild<br/><br/>Screaming and shrieking, Elfhild and Elffled splashed through the stream, half running, half stumbling, their frantic movements sending great plumes of water skyward. They clambered up the bank and broke into a run, never once looking back. There was no time to fetch their clothing, for they had left their garments on the bank upstream. The sisters mindlessly ran through the woods, their only thought to escape their foe, whom they feared was surely hot on their heels. Only four days before, the murderous Sharapul had held them hostage, and horrifying images of that monster filled their minds with dread and lent speed to their feet.<br/><br/>During their frolic in the water, the sisters had wandered some distance away from the hiding place of the slaver and his lieutenant. Although the men had been able to keep them in view, they had not been able to see clearly what had transpired on the other side of the brook. On their feet as soon as they heard the screaming, they watched in dismay as the two sisters tore past them and ran into the woods.<br/><br/>"Shakh, the women!" Ubri exclaimed as he gawked at the long blonde hair and luscious bottoms which were rapidly disappearing into the forest. "What has gotten into those two flighty wenches this time? By all the gods, surely they are not stupid enough to try to escape again!"<br/><br/>"Captain, perhaps they saw a snake and that frightened them, but who understands the idiosyncrasies of women?" Shaking his head, Esarhaddon shrugged his shoulders. "They are from a barbarian culture, and perhaps the women commonly run naked like the deer, clad only in their hair…"</p><p>Suddenly a movement across the stream caught Ubri's eye. "Look!" he whispered as he gripped the slaver's shoulder and pointed across the stream. "Did you see something move over there under the large leaning oak with the forked trunk?"<br/><br/>"Yes, Captain, I can see something! By the sheer bulk of it, I will wager that it is an orc!" Esarhaddon hissed, his face reddening in rage. "A damned orc has seen my women naked! The audacity of that bastard!" His eyes narrowing dangerously, the slaver put his hand on the hilt of his scimitar. "Do not let him get away!"<br/><br/>Quietly moving out of their hiding place, the men broke into a trot and hit the stream running, their scimitars drawn and ready for battle. First across the stream, Ubri cursed when he saw what appeared to be an unconscious orc with a bloody rag tied about his forehead. With a mighty roar, he savagely kicked the orc in the side. When there was no response from the intruder, the Captain turned the brute over onto his back. Straddling the orc, one foot on either side of his middle, Ubri pressed the tip of the wicked curved scimitar into the base of the orc's throat. <br/><br/>Puffing slightly, Esarhaddon slipped and almost fell as he climbed up the stream bank. "Where the hell is Ganbar?" he demanded as he scowled down at the orc. "I thought he was supposed to be guarding this side of the stream!"<br/><br/>"My lord, he was!" Ubri replied, glancing up briefly from the orc's prone body to look around.<br/><br/>Dead leaves crunched and twigs snapped as Ganbar emerged from the trees along the edge of the forest. "Hail! It is m-me, Ganbar! Here I am! M-my lords, forgive m-me! I - I was a little w-way back in the woods! I - I did not dare get any closer, lest I - I see the w-women! S-somehow the s-scoundrel must have s-slipped by m-me!" His face crimson under his tawny skin, Ganbar stammered as he apologized profusely. Since boyhood, he had attempted to master his stuttering, but unpleasant situations often made him stumble over his tongue. Frustrated and deeply embarrassed, Ganbar offered lamely, "A-at least the orc did no h-harm." <br/><br/>"Ganbar, you were derelict in your duty! The vermin could have done a great deal of harm," Esarhaddon cut him short. "Now search the animal! Then tie him up so he will cause no more trouble! We will take him back to camp with us!"<br/><br/>"My lord, we should slit his throat and bleed him like a beef!" Ubri grated out, hatred contorting his features. <br/><br/>"No, we will let him live," Esarhaddon replied, a cruel gleam hardening his eyes. "Let us see what this fellow was up to!"</p><p>***</p><p>Softly humming a joyous tune often played at weddings in Harad, Inbir had almost finished preparing the tea. As high-pitched shrieking burst through the peace and tranquility of the woodlands, Inbir was on his feet and rushing to his scimitar, which he had left by the base of a nearby tree. Not bothering to fasten his sword belt around his middle, he pulled the scimitar from its sheath and slid it beneath his sash.<br/><br/>He was halfway to the stream when his disbelieving eyes beheld two naked maidens racing through the woods in his direction. Inbir's breath caught in his throat and he could only gape speechlessly, his throat constricting painfully. "Such divine nymphs, like goddesses of paradise," his romantic soul proclaimed. "Should such dwell in the afterlife, death could hold no fear!" <br/><br/>Catching sight of Inbir, Elffled almost stumbled in her shock. Inbir had seen her naked! Shrieking, she pushed her sister behind a tree and then quickly vanished behind the mighty bole herself. <br/><br/>"Master Inbir!" Elfhild cried, her head peeking from behind the tree. "There is a horrible orc chasing us!"<br/><br/>"Please protect us!" Elffled whimpered, casting a furtive glance back the way whence she had come.<br/><br/>Things were happening too fast for Inbir to comprehend them. "What?" he croaked out, shaking his head to clear his muddled thoughts. Feeling awkward, he coughed to hide his embarrassment. "What do you mean?" he asked in confusion. When their words at last penetrated his brain, he remembered his scimitar and drew it from his sash.<br/><br/>"We were bathing in the stream," Elfhild explained, panting, "when an orc charged out of the woods and headed straight for us!"<br/><br/>"That is impossible!" he challenged. "The House of Huzziya has paid all the required tolls, taxes, tariffs and duties, and has been granted safe passage through these lands by the King of Morgul! We have no grievance with the orcs!"<br/><br/>"We still saw an orc!" Elfhild insisted.<br/><br/>A wary look crossed Inbir's face as his eyes darted nervously from side to side. "I suppose," he replied speculatively, "that one could have gone mad." <br/><br/>"Please, Master, give us your cloak!" Elffled begged. "We left our clothes by the stream!"<br/><br/>Although Inbir doubted the girls' stories, still he had heard enough strange tales about this valley to be unwilling to take chances. On the alert, Inbir moved by the tree where the girls were hiding. "Be still!" he sternly commanded. Skirting the oak, he walked away in the direction of the stream, halted, cupped his hand to his ear and then listened before returning.<br/><br/>"There is no orc here, nor any sign of one! You were imagining things!" he muttered gruffly. "You cannot go running around these woods naked! Here, clothe yourselves!" Slipping off his burnoose and tunic, he passed the garments around the tree trunk. "When you are dressed, follow behind me!" he ordered as he stomped off in the direction of the stream. "Both of you deserve a whipping for this little trick!" he called back over his shoulder. "Trying to run away again, were you? What a foolish thing to do! How far did you think you could get without any clothes or provisions?"<br/><br/>"We were not running away!" Elfhild protested indignantly. "In case you did not notice, Master, we were running <em>in</em> the direction of the camp, not <em>away</em> from it!"<br/><br/>"Silence, wench, and do not try to deceive me with your honeyed tongue!"<br/><br/>As they walked in uneasy silence towards the brook, Inbir found it difficult to keep his mind off the two barely clad slave girls. He was very aware of their presence. Hearing the gentle rustle of their garments, he was reminded of the milk-white breasts, slender waists, full hips, graceful thighs, and shapely calves which he had seen just a few minutes before. Occasionally one of the girls would murmur in pain as a dainty foot stepped on a stone, and he wished he could carry her in his arms so that she would not suffer.<br/><br/>Hearing a sound up ahead of them, Inbir halted and quickly pushed the sisters behind the trunk of a large tree. "Stay here!" he grated out before creeping forward, using the trees as cover. As the voices ahead of him drew nearer, he cursed fate that he did not have a shield or armor. His thin under-tunic would provide no protection in the event of an attack. He had never faced an orc before. There had been no need. Now as he considered the possibility that one had gone feral and run amok, terrorizing the women and possibly killing the other men, he was in a cold sweat. As his heart hammered in his chest, he clenched his jaw resolutely, prepared for the worst, and held his scimitar in readiness.<br/><br/>As the sounds grew steadily nearer, Inbir grinned when he recognized the voices of the slaver and the other men. How had he ever considered that any orc could overpower Captain Ubri? The Captain was far too devious and cunning himself ever to be taken by surprise by something so stupid and brutish as an orc. Chagrined, the young man knew that he had let his fears and uncertainty at traveling through this strange place influence him far too much. <br/><br/>Relieved at the sound of the men's familiar voices, the sisters cautiously peeked out from behind the tree. They gasped at what they saw. A big brute of an orc limped into view, prodded along by the swords of Ubri and Ganbar. The orc's elbows had been forced back, and a long, stout staff had been thrust beneath them. His wrists had been bound and his thumbs immobilized in an upright position, held by tight rope. A bloody rag was wrapped around his head and both eyes were black and swollen almost shut. His filthy surcoat was torn in a number of places, and dried blood had stiffened the tattered cloth.<br/><br/>"My lord!" Inir exclaimed as he rushed up to greet the returning party. "The women told me that there was a rampaging orc, but I did not credit their words as true!"<br/><br/>"They did not exaggerate," Ubri replied grimly. "We found this fellow back at the stream."<br/><br/>Stumbling, the orc went down on his knees. Both Ubri and Ganbar were quick to beat him about the head with the flats of their swords, bringing pleas for mercy from the orc's swollen lips. Once they had him back on his feet, they drove him forward with encouragement from their scimitars. Inbir drew to the side to wait until the small procession passed and then fell in beside Esarhaddon, the twins following behind.<br/><br/>Once back at their temporary camp, Ubri and Ganbar pushed the orc to the ground and bound his ankles together. The picture of desolation, the miserable creature hunched his shoulders and kept his eyes turned downward.<br/><br/>Elfhild and Elffled stared fearfully at the spectacle of the injured orc until Esarhaddon remembered that he had retrieved their clothing. With a gruff dismissal, he gave them their garments and told them to clothe themselves away from the sight of the men. Then they were to return Inbir's tunic and burnoose and retire to the campfire, which was at a discreet distance from where the orc sat, staring into space.<br/><br/>Their expressions angry and filled with hatred, the four men silently regarded the orc. Looking around at the other men, Ubri was the first to speak up. "My lord Esarhaddon, this filth deserves full retribution for his crimes!" He spoke in Westron, so that all, especially the orc, could understand.<br/><br/>"What do you suggest, Captain?" Esarhaddon asked as he folded his arms across his chest and eyed the orc coldly.<br/><br/>"Let the punishment reflect the severity of the crime! Gouge out his eyes with burning brands for daring to look at your women, and then smash his balls, which are filled with his lust!" Ubri hissed as he kicked the orc in the scrotum. The beast bent over double as a horrible wail poured from his throat. "Then kill him! Kill him!" Ubri shouted, his eyes gleaming with dark hatred, a drop of spittle catching on his beard. <br/><br/>"Shakh Esarhaddon, Captain Ubri..." Ganbar looked at each one as he scratched behind his ear, "why should we bother ourselves with discussing this? Just kill him! The orc is an animal, and one of his polluted race does not deserve to live! What he has done is an obscenity! Just kill him and have it done with!" Impressed with the weighty merit of his own words, Ganbar reflected upon them a moment, then pursed his lips and nodded his head in agreement with himself.<br/><br/>Inbir shot a look of utter contempt down at the orc and then looked at the other men. Raising his clenched fist in the air and violently shaking it for emphasis, he yelled, "This swine dung has defiled the virgins with his unclean eyes! Shall such a crime go unavenged? I say no! If he lives, our honor as Haradrim will be sullied! We must preserve our integrity and smite him! Let him die now!" His eyes gleaming with wrath, his features infused with violent fervor, Inbir's usually calm, handsome face burned with the fire of a zealot. He drew his scimitar from his belt and held it aloft in one hand, waving it menacingly. <br/><br/>His legs drawn up against his stomach, his head bent low, the orc rocked back and forth, moaning. "Not... look..." he managed to whisper. "Nar! Nar!" Indeed, he was telling the truth. The only reason he had ventured from his hiding place that morning was to seek relief from the fever and pain which tormented his mortifying wounds. Delirious and insensible, he had barely comprehended the twins' presence, being far more interested in slaking his unquenchable thirst.<br/><br/>"Silence, dog!" Ubri struck his head with the flat side of his scimitar, knocking the orc sprawling over on his side, where he lay, his body quivering every now and then from the chills.<br/><br/>"Shakh, shall we slay the stinking scum now?" snarled Ubri, his dark eyes burning with malice, his nose wrinkling in disgust. "His stench is an effrontery to our nostrils!"<br/><br/>Up until that time, Esarhaddon had listened to the angry words of his men with few comments. "Captain, what you have said is quite true. The brute deserves to die for his attempted violation of my women..." The exuberant shout of his men interrupted the slaver, and he allowed them to continue for a time. At last he held up his hand for silence. "However, as much as I want to kill this bastard, we cannot do it, for the lives of all of us will stand in jeopardy! Behold," Esarhaddon pointed an accusing finger at the orc, "the surcoat that he wears! Though filthy and torn, it bears the sigil of the pallid sickle moon and skull upon a field of black! Who here among us dares to shed this orc's blood?"<br/><br/>The men's eyes turned and riveted upon the orc. "Minas Morgul..." Ganbar whispered, sucking in a breath of air which whistled through the gap in his front teeth.</p>
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<a name="section0026"><h2>26. A Miscreant Caught</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>"Shakh Esarhaddon, what difference does it make where the scoundrel is garrisoned? How can that have any bearing whatsoever upon what we do with him?" Ubri demanded brusquely in the tongue of the Southern people. "This fellow has obviously gotten into trouble with his superiors and fled to save his own skin."</p><p>"Then let them deal with him!" Esarhaddon shot back, irritated at what he considered his underling's insolence. "Captain Ubri, I have done business with Minas Morgul for years! They do not take lightly to outsiders determining the fate of one of their own!"</p><p>"Yes, my lord, of course, you are correct," Ubri replied, abashed by the slaver's mild rebuke and feeling that he was close to losing face.</p><p>Confused by the discussion, Ganbar tugged his nose as he rehearsed his words before speaking. To avoid a reoccurrence of his earlier bout of stuttering, he knew he must speak slowly and carefully. "My lords, I judge that this orc is nothing more than a common soldier of little importance. If he were of any consequence, he would already be dead. Why can we not simply kill him and bury the body? Who will ever know the difference?"</p><p>Before either Esarhaddon or Ubri had a chance to answer Ganbar's question, Inbir grated out angrily, "My lords, this foul-formed, ill-begotten miscreant has besmirched our honor! How can we let this insult to our integrity go unchallenged? It is our duty to kill this gangrel, for his lust-filled eyes have gawked upon the unclad bodies of the women! If this were Harad, he would be dead already!"</p><p>"But this is not Harad, Inbir," Esarhaddon reminded him. "It is the Kingdom of Morgul. Have you asked yourself what is the value of honor if you are dead?"</p><p>Inbir was not to be dissuaded by the slaver's words, though, for his hot Southern blood was up, and he demanded satisfaction. "My lord," he forced his voice to be calm, "I know I am the youngest of our group and have neither the experience nor the wisdom of the rest of you, but I feel that if a man does not have pride and honor, he has nothing." Fired up with righteous indignation, the young man's face was dark with wrath and his hands shook.</p><p>Walking over to the young man, Esarhaddon put his hand on his shoulder to calm him. "While I would be just as quick to spill his blood as you are, Inbir, we must be practical. We are in the business to make a profit, not fight orcs," the slave trader told him quietly. "The two slave girls are unharmed. The orc only had a quick look at them before they ran away. His gaze has not decreased their value by so much as a single copper coin."</p><p>Too riled at what he considered gross injustice to cool down easily, Inbir stared at the slaver. Uncomfortable at the tense atmosphere, the other men shifted their positions and looked away. Knowing that he was the cause of their unease, Inbir began to wish that he had never challenged the Shakh. He forced himself to weigh his motives, and as he considered the slaver's logic, he knew he could not argue with it. The slaves had neither come to any harm nor decreased in value.</p><p>Why then had he been so belligerent? He knew the answer before he even asked the question. Ever since he had found the little barbarian, Elffled, by the stream, he had been infatuated by her beauty. How he wished he had enough coin to purchase both her and Aeffe!</p><p>"Shakh, you are right." Inbir looked down at the ground. He would not argue with the slaver's logic any longer.</p><p>"Inbir, I thought you might come around to my reasoning." Esarhaddon allowed himself a wry smile as he turned to face his men. "We must all remember that we are not far from the Dark City here." His expression turning grave, Esarhaddon glanced down, staring at the rings on his interlocked fingers. "There are spies everywhere in these woods, and while we may not see them, you can be sure they are watching us. Even if by some chance they should miss us, there is always a possibility that a rider of one of those abominations of nature - the bizarre crosses between lizards and birds, the scaly featherless rocs - could fly by at any moment and see us!" To emphasize his point, the slaver's eyes flicked to the skies. "While I would prefer another way, I accept that our only choice is to take him back to his city." Though Ganbar and Inbir scowled and muttered, they deferred to Esarhaddon and did not comment.</p><p>His pride still stinging from the earlier reprimand, Ubri was eager to regain face. "Shakh, perhaps returning him to the City is the best idea. Mayhap we will even be given a reward for our diligence in apprehending this troublemaker," he suggested. "At the very least, we should rise in the favor of the rulers of the valley."</p><p>Esarhaddon laughed mirthlessly. "The Lords of the City consider it boon enough that they allow us to live and pass through their land unharmed. There will be no thanks for returning this fellow. The Seneschal of the city will regard it as his due." His impatience to be away growing, the slaver frowned, his brow knitting up. "Now, men, we have spent enough time on this discussion. We need to be about our business." He flexed his arms with a clench of his fists. "Saddle up!"</p><p>While waiting for the men to conclude their deliberations, Elfhild had been far too distressed to remain sitting still for long. Fidgeting, she had looked about for something to occupy her restless hands, and noticed that a pile of wood - kindling which had not been needed to feed the fire - lay nearby. Picking up a long stick, she absentmindedly began breaking off small sections and throwing them one by one into the flames. Sitting cross-legged, Elffled hunched forward, her elbows resting on her knees, her chin cupped between her hands. Yawning, she watched her sister's useless pursuit. How monotonous it was to sit there and do nothing!</p><p>A horse snorted nearby. Both girls lifted startled eyes to see Inbir leading his own and their horses into the clearing. Instantly on their feet when they saw him, the twins bowed deferentially. Both felt uncomfortable in his presence, for he had seen them when they were running naked through the woods. The pink blush of color on their cheeks reflected their embarrassment. Too ashamed even to look in his direction, Elffled was glad that she was not required to lift her face and gaze into his eyes. Elfhild, though, was relieved that at last the waiting was over and something was happening.</p><p>"Slave girls, you have idled long enough! We break camp in a few minutes," Inbir told them gruffly as he looped the reins of his own mount and Elffled's over the branches of a small bush. Turning his back to them, he tightened the girth on Elfhild's gelding. When he glanced at them again, his expression was stern. "Here, I will help you mount." Lightly placing a foot into his cupped hands, Elfhild gripped the pommel of the saddle as he lifted her up.</p><p>"Thank you, Master Inbir, but I could have managed that on my own," Elfhild told him politely. </p><p>"I take no chances with valuable property. If it were up to me, both of you would be transported in a litter carried by slaves."</p><p>After he had helped Elffled onto her horse, Inbir moved to the fire pit and kicked dirt into the dying fire to smother it out completely. Already loaded, the pack horses were tethered a few yards away, and after untying their ropes, Inbir mounted his own horse and turned to face the sisters. "Since Captain Ubri and Ganbar are guarding the orc, I have been assigned to make certain that neither one of you gets into trouble. Do you understand that?" He glanced from one girl to the other.</p><p>"Yes, Master," Elffled murmured. He was so close, so temptingly close. Though she knew that she should not, she shyly peeked up at him through long, thick eyelashes. The sight of his wiry, muscular body, handsome face, and dark, kohl-rimmed eyes caused her heart to flutter and her blood to pound in her ears. Why, oh why, did this enemy have to be so disastrously handsome? She was so weak! Her friend Aeffe was infatuated with him, and perhaps he was just as infatuated with her! Elffled must drive all thoughts of Inbir out of her mind and force herself never to dwell upon him again!</p><p>"Master, may I be allowed a question?" Elfhild asked deferentially, studying the reins in her hand.</p><p>"Yes," Inbir answered, barely flicking her a disinterested glance. "What is it?" His gaze returned to Elffled, and he frowned when he saw that she was ignoring him.</p><p>Elfhild hesitated, uncertain as to how to broach such a subject. "Will - will you tie our hands later?" She must not get her hopes up. Surely Inbir had forgotten to tie them up, but perhaps not. Maybe the young Southron was playing some cruel joke, and just as their spirits brightened, he would bind their hands once more.</p><p>"No, the kind and beneficent Shakh has ordained that you will ride with your hands unbound," Inbir told her. "Be grateful to him, you worthless slaves! Considering your constant willfulness, many men would not treat you so kindly! Now move ahead to the clearing and wait! I must fetch the pack horses!" </p><p>Murmuring her thanks, Elfhild touched her heels to her horse's sides, urging the gelding into a brisk walk. How strange it was to be riding side by side with her sister! Free of the hated ropes, they were actually being allowed to control their own mounts. How good the reins felt in their hands after so long!</p><p>With this heady sense of newfound freedom restoring some of their confidence, the twins rode to the little glade where the rest of the party waited. Before they ever reached the clearing, though, they heard a noisy commotion. Loud, harsh voices barked orders, shouted insults and cursed, but even louder than the Southrons' boisterous clamor were the primal, animalistic grunts, growls, shrieks and sobs of the orc. Alarmed, the twins drew in their horses at the edge of the clearing.</p><p>Mounted on his chestnut mare, Ka'adara, Esarhaddon acknowledged the sisters' presence with only the slightest of sideways glances. His eyes were fixed upon the howling orc, who had fallen face-down on the ground, his bound hands smashed beneath him. His hard, thin lips curled upward in a pitiless grin, Captain Ubri stood poised above the orc, his legs spread wide. In the Southron's hand was the foot-long handle of a vicious cat-o-nine. The Captain gazed admiringly at the instrument of torture, its two-foot-long square-shaped tresses of stiff oiled cowhide trailing down, the tips barely touching the orc's back. The whip was fairly new, the tails still sharp and capable of dealing wicked, flesh-rending cuts.</p><p>Turning ashen pale at the impending violence, Elffled buried her head in her hands. Her sister, though, was unable to tear her eyes away from the scene, and she watched as though mesmerized. Still innocent of such fiendish devices, she had never seen a whip so formidable as the one which rested in the Captain's hand. A shudder rippled over Elfhild's body as she thought with horror, "On a whim, they can use such hell-spawned instruments on us at any time they want! What other devilish things are they capable of doing?" Whipped only three times with a light deerskin flogger the previous afternoon, her punishment had been mild compared to what the orc now faced. </p><p>Drawing the whip back, the Captain brought the tresses dancing across the orc's calves, forcing a howl of pain from the beast's throat. The Captain raised the whip again, delivering a stinging medley of grief across the orc's already bleeding legs. Shrieking, the orc stumbled to his feet and staggered a few steps.</p><p>Scarcely able to believe that she was in this peaceful glade and watching such merciless cruelty, Elfhild gripped the pommel of her saddle to steady herself. Flooding across her mind were all the scenes of misery and agony which she had beheld over the past few months, all the pain, horror and suffering brought about by the war. Unable to bear any more, she screamed, a piercing cry that brought the eyes of all the men upon her. She felt her stomach clench in a terrible spasm as a wave of nausea rushed over her. She flung her hands to her mouth, on the verge of retching.</p><p>The Captain's eyes darted to the Shakh's face. "My lord," his mild voice was an humble simper, "such distractions can disrupt my rhythm and lessen the force of the stroke. Might I ask that these women be removed until the punishment is completed?"</p><p>"No," Esarhaddon answered quietly, "they will stay and watch until the creature has been taught obedience. He is a runaway, just as they are. Perhaps there are also lessons here for them to learn." The slaver's lips curled in a pleasant smile. "Captain, you may continue."</p><p>"Aye, my lord." Ubri bowed and raised the whip in salute to Esarhaddon. Turning back to the orc, Ubri lashed the brute's legs with sharp, stinging blows, raising bloody welts on the orc's skin. "You lazy filth, are you ready to march now?" Ubri cried, lashing the orc's legs over and over. Excited by the orc's pain, he was like a man who had eaten the sacred mushrooms before a battle. The sound of the whip striking flesh filled him with feelings of elation and power. All of his senses were alive, and he could stand all day, bringing the whip up and down! Thrilled with the sensation and seeking to cause the orc the most extreme amount of pain, the Captain allowed the tresses to wrap around the orc's calves, the sharp ends raking his flesh as the whip was drawn back. </p><p>"Master, mercy! I beg you! Don't beat Talûn again! Mercy, please! Mercy! Akh! I'll walk! I'll do anything you say!" the orc wailed as he stumbled forward. His eyes bright with pain, he prayed to the Dark Lords that someday he might have this weak bastard's throat in his hands. Even if he died in the process, he would enjoy watching this weakling's eyes bulge, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, as he crushed his windpipe. If there was any justice upon Middle-earth, this man would die at his hands someday!</p><p>Breathing hard, the Captain halted the flagellation and turned to the Shakh, his eyes questioning. "My lord? What say you? Shall I halt or continue?"</p><p>"Captain, I believe this fellow will give you no more trouble. You may now cease. We need to be away from here," Esarhaddon pronounced, his attention drawn to the encroaching rain clouds in the west. His hand gently stroked his horse's neck, his fingers smoothing over the glossy chestnut hair. "You are impatient to be going, are you not, my little fox?" he murmured to the animal. This whipping would scarcely be recorded in the memory of the slaver, nothing more than another unremarkable punishment which would soon be forgotten.  </p><p>The scourging at last finished, Ubri turned and strode to his horse. Before mounting, he fastened the wrist strap of the whip to a ring on the back of his saddle, where it would be convenient should he need it again. Turning in the saddle, he reached back, opened a flap on the saddlebag, and drew out a linen handkerchief. After taking a drink from his waterskin, he poured a few drops of water on the cloth and mopped over his sweating brow. The captain nodded to Ganbar, who placed a noosed rope about the orc's neck and handed the end up to him. Wrapping the rope securely around the pommel of his saddle, Ubri looked to the slaver for orders.</p><p>"Now once again we can resume our journey," the Shakh drawled in a disinterested voice as he touched his heels to his horse's sides. "Let us head for the city!"</p><p>"My lord Shakh, I do not think our friend here is in any hurry to return. Maybe he is afraid of the reception he will receive," Ganbar chortled, spitting in the direction of the orc. Esarhaddon pretended that he had not heard, while Inbir gave his comrade a token laugh. Although the laughter was forced, Ubri chuckled heartily, already feeling fatigued as he often did after such strenuous exercise. </p><p>The small procession set out with Esarhaddon in the lead. None of them looked back at the glade, where peace had once again returned. The orc shuffled along in misery behind Ubri, who jerked upon the rope whenever his pace slackened. Ganbar, his own whip at hand, rode at the orc's back, ready to drive him forward with a well-placed lash. Wary of the beast ahead of them, the twins gave the orc a wide berth. Elffled turned to her sister, and, seeing that she was weeping quietly, reached out and touched her sleeve. Making up the rear of the column was Inbir, whose handsome face wore a brooding, sullen expression.</p><p>"Not the most auspicious way to begin the journey into Mordor," the young Southron scowled. He looked up apprehensively at the foreboding mountains, where the sun had just broken through the murky clouds.</p><p>His expression thoughtful, Ganbar clicked his tongue and commented matter-of-factly, "That little bit of brightness will not last. It appears that we are in for more rain."</p><p>As she rode, Elfhild studied the brute who was forced to march step by agonizing step. His bloody, lacerated legs stumbled sometimes, but a jerk on the noose at his neck brought him forward, gasping for breath. No helm was upon the beast's head and his right boot was missing. His sable leather armor, which appeared to have been embellished with a whitish emblem at one time, hung in strips that offered little protection. He was a gangling creature, short and squat with long mawkish arms that would have almost dragged the ground had they not been tied in front of him.</p><p>As she watched him struggle ahead, Elfhild felt pity for the pathetic creature. Once, such a notion would have been unthinkable to her. Back in the days of peace, she would cheer when she listened to the tales of bold riders who went bravely out to slay the foul brutes. Orcs were fiends, monsters, more ignoble than the most wretched of beasts. Riders sang joyous songs as their swords severed the heads of the creatures. Old warriors would tell their grandchildren about the great number of orcs which they had killed and consider such slaughter as sport, a good pastime for a young man. But Elfhild had felt no gladness when she had slain the orc who had murdered her mother. Stranger still, she sometimes felt pity in her heart for his kind.</p><p>An ugly, savage-looking brute, some bizarre combination of animal and man, still Talûn the orc spoke and comprehended language and felt pain, the same as any man. A vicious, formidable enemy who was capable of unbelievable savagery and merciless cruelty, but a thinking enemy nonetheless. Had she and her sister not witnessed the same barbarism in men as they had beheld in orcs?</p><p>Was the race of Orcs really that much different from Men?</p><p>Or was there any difference at all under the skin?</p>
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<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Foul Words, Brutal Honesty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>Once again, great dark clouds had gathered to the west, painting the sky in deep shades of indigo which graduated into a lighter hue of azure. There was a deep rumble of thunder in the distance. Another storm was coming, and coming quickly. Breezes stirred the naked tops of trees and set the lithesome branches to swaying gently. Air currents as capricious as a flighty young maiden swirled about the travelers, first blowing breaths of stifling heat and in the next instant turning cool and refreshing, a strange combination of sensation brought about by the shifting of the ethers just before a summer storm.</p><p>After a momentary surcease, a fickle western wind danced behind the travelers, sending their burnooses flapping about their legs. "Ten hard leagues to go through this forsaken valley, and not a single inn for the poor traveler to take shelter from the rain!" Ganbar muttered dourly, pushing the hood of his burnoose back from his face. He spoke in Westron; the twins surmised that this was so they could hear his usual complaining about the weather.</p><p>"Ganbar, I would not say the valley was exactly forsaken," Inbir added sarcastically as he gazed up at the rocky hills which pressed in on either side.</p><p>"Forsaken by mortals anyway," Ganbar amended. He glanced around apprehensively as though he expected at any moment to see some hideous monster emerge from a narrow ravine or a cave on one of the hillsides. </p><p>"Silence, men!" Esarhaddon's deep voice rumbled threateningly. "You will frighten the women with such idle talk!" </p><p>"Yes, my lord." Inbir bowed his head deferentially. "It was thoughtless of me to speak so. Your pardon."</p><p>"I will say no more upon it, my lord," Ganbar assured him. "We meant no harm. Inbir and I were only passing time with foolish tales." Abashed, he glanced down at the reins between his fingers, frowning when he noticed a festering splinter deeply embedded in his middle finger.</p><p>"Har! Har! Har!" Talrûn sputtered out a deranged laugh. "The little sluts will be frightened enough when they 'as the ice-cold prick of one of the filthy Shriekers rammed in their quims, they will!"</p><p>"Silence, you baseborn dog!" Ubri screamed, leaning down from the saddle and lashing the cat-o-nine across the orc's face. The orc bellowed a cry of rage and pain and tried futilely to bring his hands up to grab at his burning face. Frightened by the orc's fierce yell, the Captain's mare snorted and kicked out to the side.</p><p>"Damn! Let me take him!" cried Ganbar as he threw a leg over the pommel of the saddle and dropped to the ground. "Stay back!" he shouted to the twins as he headed for the orc. Bringing their horses to a sudden halt, the sisters watched in stunned silence, their ears burning with the orc's vile profanity.</p><p>"He is yours!" Ubri shouted as he slipped the orc's lead rope from the pommel and tossed it to the ground.</p><p>Talûn turned hate-filled eyes to Ganbar and threw back his head and laughed. With a roar, the Southron barreled into him, knocking the orc sprawling on his back. Landing on top him, Ganbar pinned the orc to the ground. Talûn's yellow eyes were pools of hatred as he glared up at Ganbar. The brute bared his teeth and gasped out, "Maybe they'll like it better when all nine of the Undead Kings take turns shovin' their molderin', maggot-infested prongs up their virgin arses..." Enraged, Ganbar wrapped his hands around the orc's neck and began to squeeze. "Then they'd..." Talûn gasped, "...make 'em lick... the filth... off their--ahhhhh--"</p><p>"Shut up, you degenerate piece of pig dung!" Ganbar grated between clenched teeth as he smashed his fist into the orc's mouth. The blow was so savage that two of the orc's teeth shattered under the force, cutting the Southron's knuckles in the process. Talûn, maddened by pain, spat a stream of blood and broken teeth into Ganbar's face. "Damn you!" Ganbar cursed as he wiped off the mess with his sleeve and plowed his fist into the orc's flat nose. The orc's head reeled back on his neck, spattering more blood over Ganbar's face and burnoose.</p><p>When the fight had begun, Ubri dismounted to watch the scuffle from a distance. When it was apparent that Talûn had been subdued, the Captain stalked up to the wounded beast. "You little misbegotten spawn of apes, you deserve to die!" he snarled and kicked the orc in the groin. Talûn screamed in agony, his body convulsing in pain.</p><p>"Let me slit his throat!" Ganbar's voice was shaking as he drew a small dagger from his sash and pressed it against the orc's neck. Seldom was Ganbar ever this angry, but the surly little toad had insulted the twins, and Ganbar considered himself their protector. Though he had never killed a man in his life, now in this rage which almost overpowered him, he could kill the orc without thinking twice of it. </p><p>"No! He is a dead man already! Let those of the City have him!" Esarhaddon commanded. When the fight had first broken out, the Shakh had been riding ahead of the party, as was his custom. After he had heard the shouts and curses, he turned his mare around and halted her near Ubri. "Gag this offal and drag him to his feet!" Curse this renegade orc! the slaver raged to himself. Now he would have to reassure the slave girls that they were in no danger of being raped by the Undead! As flighty as that pair was, it might take some doing!</p><p>"Aye, my lord." Ubri inclined his head and touched his chest with his fingers. Turning back to the orc, Ubri grasped the brute's filthy black hair and jerked his head back. Inbir, who had arrived late at the scene, shoved a wad of dirty linen into the orc's mouth and secured the gag with another strip of material tied around his mouth.</p><p>"Captain," Inbir looked to his superior, "the creature's mouth is full of blood and gore. Might he not choke to death?"</p><p>"No big loss," Ubri answered spitefully as he and Ganbar pulled the wretch to his feet.</p><p>"You filthy scum, let that be a lesson to you!" Ganbar growled, roughly pushing the orc ahead of them. "You will get more of the same treatment if you do not learn proper manners!"</p><p>"At least now his mouth can no longer spew its foul garbage, Ganbar!" Ubri laughed, his thin lips curling into a smile of cruel satisfaction.</p><p>Within a short while after the orc's subjugation, the party was once again mounted and on its way east. Their faces ashen with fear, the twins exchanged frightened glances, both of them visibly shaken by the scene of violence which they had just seen. "Oh, Elfhild, do you believe those terrible things that the monster said?" Elffled asked fretfully, her hand trembling on the reins.</p><p>"I do not know. I just do not know!" Elfhild shook her head back and forth. And she did not. Ever since the Southrons had crossed the Anduin, they had seemed tenser, more edgy, their tempers quick. This valley was indeed a mysterious place, with its enchanted river and wandering spirits. Now the orc had gleefully related tales of undead kings who forced their victims to fornicate with them in vile, obscene perversions of the act of love. The thought made her skin crawl as though slugs were creeping all over her body, leaving trails of slime on her flesh. If the orc was telling the truth, she prayed to Béma that He would protect her sister and her!</p><p>Ganbar turned in the saddle to look over his shoulder at the twins. "Little ones, I overheard what you said. Do not believe anything that scoundrel told you! He spoke lies, filthy, dirty lies, I tell you! He was only taking out his spite on the two of you, because if you had not screamed, he might never have been caught."</p><p>Agreeing, Inbir nodded his head. "Orcs have foul mouths. They are all blackguards and savages, a mongrel race which has advanced no more than animals and surely does not deserve to live!" he chimed in. "Pay no attention to what he told you! He was lying! The lords who rule this valley are all very much alive, and none of them are undead! He was only trying to scare you!"</p><p>"Thank you, Masters," Elffled smiled weakly, bowing her head. "I am sure you both must be correct, and if you will permit me to say this, I am very grateful to you. That was truly gallant of both of you to defend our honor. I could not believe that anyone would ever say such foul things to us!" She choked back a sob. "He reminded me of that horrible Sharapul! I am so glad that you protect us from such fiends!" While she still wondered what the crazed orc had been rambling about, she was just glad to have strong protectors and did not wish to provoke them. She had seen the violence of which the Southrons were capable, and she wanted to stay on their good side.</p><p>A deep blush glowed under Ganbar's tawny skin. Smiling shyly at the twins, he tugged on his golden earring and prayed that he would not stutter as he spoke. "We were only putting the beast in his place. Any man of the South would have done the same." Old enough to be their father and a kind man at heart, Ganbar felt sorry for the two girls. "Such a pity that the sweet flush of innocence must be as the rose, lasting but a season," he thought ruefully. Both girls rewarded him with gentle smiles.</p><p>Flattered by Elffled's complimentary words, Inbir's eyes lit up in a pleased smile which he quickly hid with a disdainful twist of his lips. "Now you realize at last how foolish you were ever to run from our protection. You left yourself open to dangers which you could never comprehend. I think now you have learned that the Southern man is a staunch and fearless warrior, ready to protect what is his by damask steel and blood."</p><p>"Then, Master," Elffled's voice was low and deferential, "if this slave will not be considered impudent for saying this, she hopes that a brave warrior such as yourself will always protect her." </p><p>"Perhaps one will," Inbir returned, his voice deep and husky.</p><p>As their horses climbed the steadily rising road, the travelers fell silent, the brooding intensity of the coming storm causing the very air to crackle with tension. They had covered little over a mile when the road began to curve towards the southeast, skirting around a great jutting spur of the mountains. Nestled between the precipice and the Morgulduin, the road bent to follow the river's path. Though the waters were swollen from the recent rain, the high bank upon which the road lay was tall enough to prevent any risk of flooding. The twins were glad that the river was far below them, for the canopy of the heavens had now shifted to an ominous looking cobalt gray. Lightning flickered off in the distance and the thunder grew closer.</p><p>The closer they traveled towards Minas Morgul, the more agitated the orc became, his short-lived bravado fading into fear. He began to struggle against the rope about his neck, pulling backwards, trying to free himself from the noose. Each time that Talûn dug his feet into the earth, Ubri mercilessly yanked on the rope, tightening the noose and sending him pitching forward.</p><p>After Talûn had gone down yet another time, the Captain's horse, already skittish with the smell of orc blood in her nostrils, moved sideways, dragging the orc behind her. Enraged at the animal's unruly behavior, Ubri sawed at her reins until he brought her back under control. He looked down at the orc and laughed mockingly. "Are you mad, fool? Perhaps you would prefer being dragged all the way back to your accursed city?" Coughing and sputtering, the orc lurched to his knees, shaking his head and hacking before staggering back to his feet.</p><p>"Mmmphhhh mmmphhh!" Though Talûn's mouth was filled with bloody cloth, the crumpled material could not completely silence him, and he moaned piteously, the sounds muffled by the gag. Still protesting, he continuously fought the rope. Once when he was knocked to his stomach, Talûn beat his face wildly against the hard road. In his frantic struggles, he loosened the gag and finally tore it off altogether. Spitting out the bloody wad, he stared in terror towards the east.</p><p>"Mercy! Mercy! S-slay... me... now!" he shouted in a frenzy of fear, blood spewing from his mouth. "The Dark Ones... curse Talûn... turn him... t-to steaming ice!" His eyes rolling wildly in his head, the orc shrieked over and over. "No! Nooo! Not... not... Nazgûl! Nooo! Nooo! K-kill... me! KILL ME!"</p><p>"Be still, you spawn of vermin!" Enraged at yet another delay, Captain Ubri cursed violently and kicked his horse into a trot, dragging the sputtering orc bouncing along behind him. At this pace, the noose quickly tightened and dug into Talûn's neck, cutting off his air. Strangling to death, his starved lungs screamed for relief, and he gagged and heaved, his mouth spewing out bloody spittle. Close to death, his eyes rolled back in his head as his body convulsed in rigid spasms.</p><p>The sisters gasped in horror as they watched another act of cruelty played out before their eyes. Elffled could stand little of the mayhem and covered her eyes with her hands. Half sick at her stomach, her belly churned with nausea at the sickening black blood spattered in a trail ahead of them. She longed for escape, but she knew that if she broke and ran, the Southrons would probably treat her with the same brutality that they showed the orc. And, judging from Talûn's behavior, the Southrons were actually the lesser of two evils when compared with the Nazgûl! Elfhild bit back the urge to scream and beg for the men to show mercy to the orc. After all, his crime against them was not all that great, just a few hateful remarks from a loose tongue. Of course, she thought, her father and brother would have killed the orc for the very first obscene remark that he had hurled at them, but at least they would have made the orc's demise a quick one and not prolonged with torture. At last she looked away, tears spilling over her cheeks.</p><p>"Captain, Captain, you are killing him!" Ganbar shouted at last. "If he dies while in our keeping, I fear what disasters will befall us! The lords of Dor-en-Ulaer are not noted for their kindness!"</p><p>Bristling at what he considered a challenge to his authority, Ubri whipped his head around and glared at Ganbar. "I am not about to kill him... just teach him respect!" Grudgingly, he halted his mount and backed the animal up, slackening the tension on the line. "Ganbar, you and Inbir gag the bastard, and this time, make sure he stays gagged!" </p><p>"Captain Ubri!" Esarhaddon's words cut through the air like the crack of a whip. The Shakh had reined his skittish mare around and now faced the men. "I have listened to this fool's babblings far too long! Gag him and put a hood on his head! You should have done that in the first place! See that you do it now!" Stroking the spirited mare on the neck to calm her, he added, "Ganbar, keep this devil moving! If he balks again, whip him until the flesh hangs in bloody shreds from his legs!"</p><p>"What the hell is wrong with Ubri today?" Esarhaddon wondered. "He is making a spectacle of himself, behaving as though he has a personal grudge against this miserable orc." Ubri's conduct had been uncharacteristic of his past actions. While stern, the man had never let his temper run out of control to the point of violence. Esarhaddon looked thoughtful as he studied Ubri's dour face. Perhaps the putrefying odors of this strange valley had affected him. "Nonsense!" the slaver told himself. No, the many problems and disappointments of this trip had been too much for Ubri. He had always been conscientious in performing his duties, but possibly the many frustrations and failures had pushed him beyond his limits. Obviously, something was troubling his mind.</p><p>"I think that a long, peaceful rest might help Ubri. After he has recuperated, I will transfer him to a less demanding position at one of our slave houses in Harad. Yes... yes... That should do it." Esarhaddon was pleased with himself at solving the dilemma so easily. "He should work out very well there." Of course, the work in Harad would be a step down for Ubri, and his pay would be less, but Esarhaddon could not risk having a man with such an unstable temper involved in an operation so crucial to the House of Huzziya as the Northern slave gathering expeditions.</p><p>"He will dance a lively tune to my lash, Shakh!" Ganbar exclaimed enthusiastically before the Captain had a chance to reply.</p><p>"Yes, my lord, it will be done," Ubri returned deferentially, but Esarhaddon had already whirled his mare around and soon had her moving up the road in a fast canter. Stunned by this unexpected rebuke, Ubri recoiled inwardly, his gut knotting up in a painful spasm. Twice in one day, he had lost face, and it was all the fault of the orc. "Accursed creatures," he cursed to himself. "Filthy, disgusting, repulsive brutes, why should we have to deal with them? All of them should be exterminated! Scum of the earth! I hate them all!" Ubri's reaction to the orc was not so different from the opinion held by many on Middle-earth. Orcs were different, they were brutal, and surely they were not of the race of Man. Why should they be allowed to live?</p><p>Now the Shakh was disappointed in Ubri, and he was most discomfited by this situation. As soon as circumstances permitted, he would go to Esarhaddon and beg his forgiveness. He had been wrong before not to gag and hood the orc, and he was prepared to assume full responsibility for bungling this whole miserable affair. Ubri would debase himself, kneel and grovel - anything to be restored to the Shakh's good graces. His whole future depended upon having the most felicitous relations with the Shakh. If he lost his lucrative position with the House of Huzziya, he had lost everything. Obtaining work would be almost impossible for him back in Nurn, for once the word had gotten out that he had been dismissed, he would be shunned by every other business house of any import.</p><p>Why had fortune turned such a sour face upon him that day? "If that idiot orc had only kept his peace," Ubri reasoned, "the two luscious twins would never have had any more than an inkling of the dark secrets which the valley holds!" It was the policy of the House of Huzziya that as little as possible should be made of the Morgul Vale and its mysteries, lest captives become frightened and unmanageable. This policy of enforced ignorance and denial was especially crucial now, for the slaves had revolted only a week before, and Esarhaddon did not want another mutiny. Having to chase slaves through the tangled, gloomy forests and shadowy ravines of Dor-en-Ulaer was the last thing that any of the men wished to do, especially since many travelers who strayed away from the main road never returned.</p><p>Ubri pressed his hand against his throbbing temples as he waited for Ganbar and Inbir to finish with the orc. The fight driven out of him, Talûn seemed to have given up. Fresh rags had been stuffed in his mouth, secured by a strip of cloth run over his mouth and tied at the back of his head. The tight-fitting black leather hood had been placed over his head and secured with straps in the back. There was a small slit under the nostrils to allow air to circulate freely. Hideous enough before, the orc now presented a nightmarish apparition, his hooded face the image of anonymous malice and the stark finality of the condemned. </p><p>"Move your mangy arse!" Ubri ordered as he spurred his horse into a walk, jerking on the orc's rope and sending him stumbling forward. Ganbar slapped the tresses over the orc's bloodied calves, but the only sensation which the orc could feel in his raw, tortured flesh was numbness. Robbed of his sight, half euphoric with his own pain and surrounded by enemies, Talûn was alone and forsaken. His nostrils were filled with the stench of his own reeking blood which oozed out of the bottom of the mask, combined with the smell of new leather. He let his mind drift on waves of hatred. </p><p>As though they could see into his brain, the twins sensed that the orc's mind was concentrated upon them. A brooding, malignant essence seemed to surround them, radiating outward from the orc like an invisible black aura of doom. Though he could not see them, Elfhild had the impression that he was watching them. Trying to shake off the sensation, she looked to her sister for comfort, only to be met with an almost identical pair of frightened blue eyes.</p><p>Nerves jangled by this tension, both sisters screamed as a brilliant flash of lightning lit up the sky. A rolling boom of thunder reverberated over the mountains and shook the ground beneath them. The storm had arrived.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Tempest Tossed and Forsaken</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>As the travelers approached the mouth of the Morgul Vale, they beheld two tall mountains which faced each other across the narrow valley like towering doorposts flanking the portal to the Dark Land. Evergreen trees and shrubs clung tenaciously to the crumbling gray rock which lay exposed on the slopes of the brooding summits. Their angular sides scored with deep crevices, the cliff faces scowled down disapprovingly like stern old men from ancient days of yore. </p><p>The road headed straight for a rocky spur which angled down from the northern mountain like a root from a gigantic tree. Skirting around the rugged outcropping, the road disappeared beyond the flanks of the mountains. The air crackled with a tension that was more than just the mounting power of the encroaching storm. It seemed to the travelers that they were being watched from all directions, and eyes peered out at them from behind the boles of firs and pines, out of the darkened openings of caves, and from the stony peaks of the mountains.</p><p>Elfhild shivered, her senses heightened by an instinctive dread of what lay beyond... and a peculiar anticipation which she could not explain. As much as she was afraid, she was equally fascinated, and the same brooding stillness of the valley which made her skin prickle also compelled her to venture forward. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. Surely all the rumors which she had overheard were making her imagination run away with her.</p><p>Heavy black clouds shrouded the skies like the billowing cloak of Death. As though flung from the staff of a powerful sorcerer, two forked bolts of lightning rent the heavens with brilliant white light. Twisting their way down like serpents, they struck the peaks of the two brooding mountains. Thunder crashed and boomed, shaking the very earth. Angry winds growled menacingly as they nipped at the travelers like hungry dogs arguing over a piece of raw and bleeding meat.</p><p>Unleashing all its pent-up fury, the storm slammed into them with a blast of power and might. Hail poured from the skies, pelting the riders and their horses with icy pellets which bounced off them and rolled across the road, dancing along the ground to collect in little white mounds. The hot-blooded mounts snorted anxiously, skittish and shying as the cold shards of ice plummeted their sensitive skin. Shivering, the travelers pulled their burnooses around their faces and bowed their shoulders under the storm's relentless onslaught.</p><p>As the hailstorm spent itself, the winds lessened, and a tense hush fell over the land. The elements gradually quieted, and there was welcome respite from nature's icy tempest. "This sweet peace will not last long," Ganbar wagged his head knowingly. </p><p>Scarcely were the words out of his mouth when the belly of the heavens opened again, unleashing a torrent of rain sweeping in sheets across the land. On the slopes above them, the trees swayed and twisted, the force of the winds threatening to uproot their mighty trunks and send them crashing to the ground. His bearing calm despite the storm, Esarhaddon led the entourage forward, past the rocky projection which rose dark and gloomy above them. The world became a dreary realm of hazy gray streaks as blinding curtains of rain obscured the path ahead. The rain beat at their backs like a thousand pounding fists, leaving them shuddering and gasping for breath.</p><p>Riding at a distance behind the three Southrons and the captive orc, the twins could barely see the figures ahead of them. Occasionally, one of the sisters would look behind her, searching through the rain for the sight of Inbir. When they saw him and the pack horses coming up the road behind them, the girls breathed a sigh of relief. They knew that without his protection, they might become lost and never found again.  </p><p>After snaking around the escarpment, the road straightened out to resume its eastward path. The riders felt their horses straining beneath them as the animals climbed the steadily rising road. Suddenly Ganbar cried out in fear. "What is happening?!" He blinked his eyes, refusing to accept the horrifying vision before him. Then when he realized the full terror of what he had seen, he made the sign against evil. "May the mercy of the Gods be upon us!"</p><p>Horrified, disbelieving their own senses, the horsemen drew their animals to a quick halt as they beheld a strange vision materializing in front of them. Wiping the rain from their faces, the travelers attempted to shield their eyes with their hands as they peered through the cascading torrent.</p><p>Taking form and shape out of the rain and mist, a wan ghost ship appeared through a storm-tossed sea. The vessel's prow cut through the churning waves as a knife slices through flesh, coming closer and closer with each heartbeat. Glowing all over from its stem to stern with a soft luminescent light, the ship beckoned to them with promises of sanctuary from the driving rain. Formless shapes stood upon the deck, their spectral arms welcoming. Crystal raindrops danced upon the dark waves, and soft voices sighed and moaned in the rain. Elfhild and Elffled screamed, long terrified wails which rose above the din of the storm. In the blink of an eye, the ethereal craft vanished as lightning filled the sky.</p><p>Elfhild shrieked again. Horribly shaken by the apparition, she trembled all over and feared her bladder might release. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Elffled cringed in her saddle, whimpering softly. Oh, how she wished she could hold her sister's hand for comfort and protection! She felt as though evil presences were all around her, closing in on her, threatening to crush her in their oppressive grasp.</p><p>"Hold steady, men! What you saw was an optical illusion, nothing more than a mirage!" Esarhaddon boomed out over the strife of the storm. Though his voice was strong as he attempted to encourage them, he had begun to doubt his ability to control his mare. The terrified beast was in complete panic. Snorting and pawing, she tossed her head up and down, fighting the bit and jerking on the rein as she struggled to turn back on the narrow trail. "Be gentle, Ka'adara!" he cooed softly as he brought her back under control and patted her neck.</p><p>"Never knew horses saw mirages, too," Ganbar muttered in Haradric. He kneed his mare forward, but she refused to move. Irritated at her stubbornness, he whacked her several times with his riding crop. She neighed angrily and clamped her ears back against her head. When he felt her muscles bunching, he knew in the next instant that she would rear. "Oh, damn!" Taking no chances that the angry mare would fall over backwards and roll on top of him, he leaned forward and hung onto her neck. As the mare's hooves rose off the ground and flailed the air, Ganbar was off her back. When her feet had returned to the ground, he was swiftly in the saddle again. "I guess maybe they can see mirages after all," he chuckled sheepishly.</p><p>"Ganbar, if you cannot ride that horse of yours, maybe you should walk!" Esarhaddon remarked jovially, but there was a bite of sarcasm in his voice. "Come on! What are all of you waiting for? Move forward!" he shouted as he urged his mare into a trot.  </p><p>"Masters," Elfhild choked out, her voice constricted with fear as she urged her horse to keep up with the others, "what just happened? I saw a great ship appearing out of nowhere and floating above the mountains!" Terrified, Elffled nodded a squeaking whimper. She could not bring herself to say what she had seen, and was more than glad to let Elfhild be the spokesman for both of them.</p><p>"You saw nothing but a mirage, girl!" Ganbar looked around impatiently and cut her short. "Nothing but lightning playing upon the mists in the valley! You are wet, tired and hungry, and are making far more of this than you should! Unless you want to be left here, you will cease speaking about such trivial matters! Now make haste!" Turning his head, he slapped his reins over his horse's neck and sent the balking animal into a rapid trot.</p><p>"The girl is not a fool!" Unnerved by what he had seen, Ubri shouted out in Haradaric above the noise of the storm and the rapidly moving horses. "You know she saw the same thing that we all did, and it was no mirage! We must turn back now or be doomed! The vision of the ship was an omen, a warning! The Guardians of this valley have betrayed us! If we stay here, we are dead men!" </p><p>"No!" Esarhaddon bellowed, his patience with the captain wearing thin. "We were promised safe passage through this valley, and never yet have I known the Lords to break their promise!" </p><p>"Aye, Shakh," Ubri feigned acquiescence at the reprimand, but inside he smarted at Esarhaddon's words. How could the man be such fool? His trust of the Valley Lords would get them all killed, and for what? Only his driving greed! The urge came over Ubri to strangle the fat pig in his sleep some night, and for a moment he plotted how he would commit the crime. He would never have the courage, though, for the others would kill him when they found out. Always frustrated in whatever he did! He needed to make someone suffer for all the contemptuous treatment which he had endured. The orc! The bastard was doomed anyway.</p><p>Ubri's eyes narrowed as he gripped Talûn's rope tighter and jerked the orc's neck hard. Groaning in pain, Talûn stumbled forward. Ubri smiled. Inflicting pain always made him feel better, but still it was not enough to compensate for the humiliation which he felt...</p><p>And then up ahead was the city, rising before them pale and wan like a fading beauty, her colorless lips a scornful seduction. Ubri's mind writhed in torment when he thought of what lay within those pallid walls...</p><p>Treacherously beautiful, the city of Minas Morgul stood across the valley like a shimmering opal in all of its terrible splendor, the paleness of its walls accentuated by the towering forms of the dark mountains all about. The city gleamed and shone like a jewel enshrined in a crystal globe, illuminated by captured moonlight and the candles of wandering spirits who were helplessly drawn to its aura like moths to a flame. The party drew closer and closer to the pulsating heart of the realm of the Nazgûl.</p><p>In spite of her fear, Elfhild was captivated by the shimmering beauty of Minas Morgul. She could not take her eyes from the cedar-clad slopes which led up to the City of the Nine Kings. As a dazzling burst of lightning illuminated the entire valley, the reflected light turned the silver domes and spires of the tall towers to shimmering silver. Riding beside her, Elffled gasped, delighting in the raw, feral beauty of nature in contrast to the measured, orderly harmony which men had wrought.</p><p>"By the gods who rule the Southern lands! Never was there a city more desolate and gloomy!" Ganbar called over the clamor of the tempest. Perhaps they should have heeded the Captain's dire warning and turned back.</p><p>"A city of djinns cast down from grace!" Inbir cursed. "A black and evil place!" The words were scarcely out of his mouth when lightning lit up the sky and another crash of thunder rocked the earth. Both Inbir and Ganbar scowled as they made the sign against evil.</p><p>As they beheld the city across the valley, radiant in its ethereal splendor and reflecting the shimmering light of the storm, Elfhild and Elffled remembered the obscene ramblings of Talûn and shuddered. Did undead beings actually dwell in the glittering, opalescent city and rule over a court of ghosts such as the one that Elfhild had seen the night before? Were the lords who ruled Dor-en-Ulaer sorcerers who could conjure up phantom ships in the sky? The twins had begun to realize that perhaps the Southrons had good reason to deny the dark secrets of the valley. Perhaps the truth was just too terrifying for them to reveal. The girls' first instinct was to turn and run, but there was no going back when one crossed the Anduin. Faint with fear, they looked to the slavers as their only protection in a land filled with untold horror.</p><p>As the horses climbed the slight grade, their hooves often slipping on the wet pavement, the rain buffeted them, whipping their tails and sending them streaming around their flanks and legs. Soaked to the skin and utterly miserable, the riders hunched their shoulders lower and bore the fury of the storm. Clouds drew darker still, and though it was only the middle of the morning, the valley was filled with the shadow of evening, lit only now and then by a fierce burst of lightning. But still the white city shimmered, glowing with unearthly loveliness, a luminescent beacon in a sable nether-darkness.</p><p>A strange scent, acrid and unpleasant, crept over the murky valley, and noses wrinkled in protest at the stench. Far above the small party, lightning rent the sky along the top of the ridge. The thunder rattled and shook the ground beneath them. Their attention riveted upon the fierce display of lightning, the riders stared at the mountainside as a tree burst into flames. As the thunder rumbled far away, the tree toppled to the ground with a mighty crash. Panic-stricken at the ominous sound, the horses plunged and skittered towards the right. Though the slavers were all experienced horsemen, still all their skill was required to quiet their panicky animals. Quiet control on the reins and gentle words at last had the beasts moving forward, though they were cautious, their ears pricking forward and back, all senses on the alert for danger.</p><p>The thunder faded into the distance, but a new sound - one far more ominous - had replaced it. At first, mud and small rocks oozed down the side of the hill, creeping slowly, but as the moving mass gained momentum, larger rocks and small trees were ripped from the slope. Suddenly a whole section of the mountainside tore away, sending a devastating mixture of earth, rocks and trees sliding down the hill.</p><p>"Men! The whole mountainside is breaking loose! Flee, damn it!" Esarhaddon shouted as he kicked Ka'adara in the sides, sending her plunging forward into a canter. Total pandemonium reigned as men yelled and cursed, concerned only with saving themselves from the surging mass that poured down the hill.</p><p>"We are all going to die!" Ubri screamed. His eyes wide with terror at the moving wall of mud, he lashed his horse with his riding crop, frantically spurring the animal forward. In his wild flight, he dropped the orc's rope on the ground.</p><p>Dismayed at the Captain's behavior, Ganbar bent low in the saddle, reached down and caught the orc's rope. "Make speed, you mangy bastard!" Ganbar yelled as he led Talûn beside his horse, whipping the orc when he faltered.</p><p>The twins shrieked when they looked up the slope and saw great trees ripped from the ground and borne down by the seething maelstrom. Terrified, they urged their horses forward, trying to keep up with the others. Screaming out his frustration and fear, Inbir tried to maneuver the bucking and pitching pack horses up the road. He had to make them move faster, for he knew that if he could not, the sweeping fury of the mud slide would tumble down upon them all and sweep them away. "Run, you blasted beasts!"</p><p>With a great roar like that of surging water, a flood of sodden earth poured down upon the road below, covering the pale pavement with mud and debris. Struggling to pull the terrified animals out of the path of the destructive slide, Inbir had managed to get most of them to safety. Just as he was about to congratulate himself on his skill as a handler, a large boulder tumbled down the hillside and struck the last horse in the column. As the animal fell, whinnying and struggling, over on its side, the whole line of pack horses came to a lurching halt, their ropes held by the weight of the downed animal. The beast shrieked in fear and agony as it tried to struggle to its feet, but one of its front legs was hopelessly mangled. Inbir growled out an oath as he slid from his saddle and slashed the rope through, freeing the rest of the pack horses. Terrified, the beasts tossed their heads and galloped up the road. They passed by the line of slavers, who could do nothing to catch them. Riding his steady mare, Inbir was right behind the runaway steeds.</p><p>Out of harm's way, Esarhaddon drew up his horse and looked back over his shoulder as the others caught up with him. "By the fates! That was one hell of a storm!" he remarked excitedly as he gazed through the gently pattering rain and watched the clouds which scudded towards the eastern horizon. "Is anyone hurt?" he asked, concern filling his face.</p><p>"No, my lord, but from the looks of it, the road behind us is now blocked," Ubri replied, glancing fretfully over his shoulder.</p><p>"Appears no one will be leaving here anytime soon," Ganbar added nervously, his eyes darting from side to side. The unsettling thought came to his superstitious mind: what if there had been no landslide at all... and maybe not even a storm? Perhaps both had been illusions of no more substance than the ship. Men said that nothing was as it seemed in this bizarre valley. Perhaps if they went back the next morning, they might discover that the mountainside was perfectly intact and all the trees which had been uprooted during the storm were magically restored to their former places on the slope above. He could not allow himself to think this way, for such thoughts would surely turn a man into a frothing maniac.</p><p>The sounds of rapidly approaching hoofbeats brought a comforting reality back to Ganbar's mind. Breathing hard with exertion, Inbir raced up with the remaining pack horses and halted alongside Esarhaddon.</p><p>"Ho, Inbir, what happened back there?" the slaver asked.</p><p>"Part of the mountainside came down over the road," Inbir replied, catching his breath as his lathered mount panted beneath him.</p><p>"A short rest here will not hurt any of us," Esarhaddon announced as his eyes settled on the sisters, who had just ridden up. "My gentle doves, tell me you are unhurt." He paused as he looked into their faces. "Ah, I can see by your eyes that you are both well and unharmed." He smiled back at them, and both girls were certain that his smile held a kindly sympathy that they had never read in him before. "Bring your horses up on either side of mine. I want you closer to me so I can keep a watch upon you. The Captain and Ganbar have enough on their hands in dealing with the orc." </p><p>"Yes, my lord," Elfhild responded with downcast eyes and a blush upon her cheeks. Still shaky from their harrowing experiences, she was glad for Esarhaddon's protection. The kindness in his words made her feel warm inside, and she forgot for a moment that he was an unscrupulous slave trader.</p><p>"Certainly, if you wish it, Lord Esarhaddon," Elffled gently murmured, the corners of her mouth turning up in a shy smile. Taking a deep breath, she clenched and unclenched the reins, trying to calm her still trembling hands.</p><p>Esarhaddon turned his face towards Inbir. "I understand that one of the animals was injured in the mud slide. Were any others hurt?" </p><p>"No, my lord, no others were lost and those remaining are in good condition." Inbir returned his gaze. "I was able to get all of them to safety, save for one, which was felled by a boulder. Unfortunately, I had to put the poor beast out of his misery." The slaver looked pained as he calculated the worth of the animal. "Now, my lord, if the rest of you will ride ahead, I will take the other animals to the back of the line."</p><p>"Certainly," the slaver nodded his head. With a slight bow, Inbir touched his fingers to his chest and then waited as the rest of the column rode by. Esarhaddon shifted his glance back to Ubri, who looked uncomfortable under the slaver's scrutiny. An unsettling thought filled the Captain's mind, and he wondered if the slaver were about to criticize him for abandoning control of the orc. He relaxed when Esarhaddon remarked casually, "It looks like the storm has passed. Now we need to be getting on with the journey."</p><p>"Yes, my lord," Ubri replied, unable to keep the relief out of his voice.</p><p>As the column headed out, they heard a low, muffled wail. The sisters glanced over their shoulders to see Talûn, who, in spite of the hood over his face, seemed able to look right at them. Elfhild wondered whether the orc had some strange ability to sense where they were, and even read their minds. Then she remembered tales of the amazing ability of orcs to track men over any type of terrain and even through blinding storms. Laughing inwardly at her foolishness, she looked over at Esarhaddon, who gazed at her with an unmistakable gleam in his eye. Blushing, she averted her gaze, her heart beating a little faster.</p><p>Elfhild gave the orc one last glance and was struck by the hideous appearance of the miserable, hooded creature. She whispered over to her sister, "With that ghastly hood over his head, the wretch looks as though he is heading for the gallows!"</p><p>"Poor thing!" Elffled murmured. "May the Gods have mercy upon him!"</p>
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<a name="section0029"><h2>29. The Garden of Dushgoi</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>As the last of the rain fled to the northeast, the Sun warily peeked from behind a billowing, gray-cloaked cloud. Light washed over the valley and colored the towering rocks along the left of the trail with tinges of yellow. Glistening raindrops clung to branches and then slowly dropped one by one to fall on the pale road. As they fell, they merged with other droplets, creating rivulets of water which streamed across the way to the river below.</p><p>The twins gazed around in wonder, for it seemed as though several weeks had passed and now the loveliness of early spring had descended upon the land. Tiny leaflets of cheery chartreuse graced once barren branches. Diminutive hyacinths, dead-nettles, and other tiny wildflowers bloomed along the road, and the green fuzz of new grass carpeted the open places beneath the forested hillside. The scent of growing things filled the cool, damp air with a heady balm which soothed the nostrils and bewitched the senses. Water cascaded down meandering gullies, singing like the sweet voices of dark elf maidens. Wispy mists still clung to the tops of the hills, floating lazily by like gossamer curtains stirred by a gentle breeze.</p><p>"What a beautiful place this is, my lord!" an awestruck Elfhild exclaimed, glancing furtively in the slaver's direction. "I feared that we would never see anything green again!" After almost being swept away by a raging flood of mud and rubble, she took comfort in the scene of peaceful tranquility around her. </p><p>Esarhaddon jerked his head sharply in her direction, his eyes shooting her a disbelieving stare. "Foolish woman, you babble like one in a delirium! What sort of nonsense are you spouting?"</p><p>Elfhild tensed at his harsh tone. "I - I was just remarking about the lovely land about us, my lord..."</p><p>"Lovely land?" he laughed as he looked at his surroundings. Obviously, the mudslide had frightened the girl half out of her senses. Her face was pale and drawn, and her hands trembled on the reins. He would not be too harsh upon this pretty little creature, for if she were pushed much further, she might be driven completely mad. He shook his head. That would indeed be a pity, for then she would fetch only a small fraction of the price she would have brought if her mind were whole. Ah, he had seen others much in the same state, and there was only one fate for them. This one, though, was far too alluring to spend her days in the pits servicing the loathsome orcs and having goblins bred upon her. That must never happen! The next time that he gave her the sleeping draught, he would sedate her more heavily. For now, though, he would concentrate upon opening her eyes to the wretchedness of this place.</p><p>"Be quiet, my sweet one, and I will tell you about what you call a 'lovely land.'" He waved his hand, gesturing from one side of the valley to the other. He smiled indulgently, his voice taking on the patient tone of a teacher explaining a difficult concept to a backward student. "As far as you can see, the only things which grow are twisted thorn trees, dwarfed shrubs, and evil little flowers. There is nothing green here, unless it would be mold clinging to the rotting trunks of dead trees. 'Lovely land?'" Esarhaddon threw back his head and roared with laughter. His men joined with him, and the combined sound vibrated harshly in Elfhild's ears. "Your eyes deceive you if you think that you see anything save desolation here."</p><p>"How can this be, my lord?" Elfhild asked in bewilderment.</p><p>"Ah, sweet one, do not look so alarmed! Your face betrays you so quickly!" Chuckling softly, he reached over and lightly flicked the leather tongue of his riding crop across her thigh. "There is a logical explanation for your confusion. Your long travels have made you weary, so your perceptions are faulty." He rubbed the hard shaft of the crop over her thigh, and when he spoke again, his voice was so soft and tender that she had to struggle to keep from being lulled into believing him. "You are not alone in suffering such erroneous conceptions, for this happens to many. You are like someone lost in the Empty Desert - your waterskin is empty; you are dying of thirst; your brain is baked by the Sun; and you see oases of blue water and green palms where there is nothing but unending sand dunes! Now do you understand?"</p><p>"My lord, I am not so weary that I see things which are not there!" Elfhild shot back, hurt and offended at the slaver's admonishment. "I know what I saw!"</p><p>"Why do you have to be so obstinate, slave girl!" Esarhaddon brought the crop down hard on her thigh. Elfhild jumped in the saddle, the suddenness of his rebuke catching her by surprise. "Never contradict what I tell you!" His voice was so harsh that she felt like clasping her hands over her ears and shutting him out. She dared not do that, for she knew that he would only strike her harder, and her thigh smarted terribly as it was. "Now there will be no more talk of anything beautiful in this valley! There is nothing here but death and desolation!" He emphasized his words with a light slap of the whip on her thigh.</p><p>"Yes, Master," she replied sullenly. His ridicule had cut her deeply and she was close to tears. Why could he not see the beauty that was all around him? Was he deliberately trying to confuse her? Was he trying to break her spirit so that she would not have the will to disagree with him about anything, even when her senses told her that he was wrong? She rubbed her stinging thigh. Oh, she did not even know why she had spoken to Esarhaddon in the first place! He was a cruel, wicked man! Willing herself not to cry, she tossed her head to the side and refused to look at him anymore.</p><p>Ganbar cleared his throat and spoke up. "Three times have I been through this valley, and each time the place has looked more desolate and forlorn than the time before," he frowned as he glanced around him. How he wished that he were anywhere but here, for the oppressive ambience of the valley had laid its chill hand upon his heart. He was glad for the warmth which radiated upward from his steaming mare's body, but each time her hooves came down upon the glittering pavement, he could hear a cadence as dreary as any funeral march.  </p><p>"Aye, Ganbar," Captain Ubri concurred enthusiastically, careful to keep the worry out of his voice. "The landscape hereabouts is every bit as blasted and barren as any desert in Harad." His eyes had been lying to him; he was certain of that! Every other time when he had passed through this deep, gloomy valley, nothing had been growing save for odd and strangely formed vegetation. Now the landscape was alive and vibrant with the first green blush of spring's soft grasses, and the trees were adorned with tiny leaves. He had decided to agree with the other men, though, for if he told them what he had actually seen, they would believe he was insane. Though perhaps, he thought grimly, they might not be that far from the truth.</p><p>Elfhild and Elffled were dismayed by the men's words, but dared not disagree again. How anyone could say anything ill about this beautiful place was just too preposterous for them to comprehend. True, the land was still withered from the blighted spring, but it was recovering by leaps and bounds. When was the last time they had seen the loveliness of nature, unmarked by winter or the scourge of Mordor? It had been in the previous autumn, when the leaves were turning red and gold and the apples and pears were hanging ripe and heavy from the trees in the orchards. Now they were seeing the splendor of the earth once again, in the least likely of places.</p><p>Incredible though it seemed, the beauteous visions which the sisters beheld were not all that uncommon. Though some travelers through the Morgul Vale were struck mad by the terrifying phantasmagorias they beheld, a few others were driven just as mad by a strange and all-encompassing love for the valley. Which was the crueler sorcery? Love, perhaps, for it rendered the mind senseless and ensnared the heart.</p><p>As he pointed ahead with his crop, Esarhaddon's loud voice intruded into the sisters' thoughts. "Slave wenches!" Startled, they quickly turned their heads towards him. "You must be alert and not dawdle, for the road drops sharply just ahead of us. Be careful lest your horses slip and give you a nasty tumble."</p><p>Riding abreast, the slaver and the two girls began the descent of the hill with the other riders and the orc following at a good distance behind. Below them, spanning the misty waters of the Morgulduin in a graceful arch, was a mighty bridge of pale stone. Tall statues at both ends of the structure welcomed those who crossed over the river, but at this distance, the sisters were unable to make out the details of their likenesses. On the eastern shore of the river, the silvery road forked into two paths. One way traveled an easterly route up the valley, and the other wound up a steep hill to the white city of Minas Morgul.</p><p>Inbir drew in a deep breath as he guided the pack horses down the hill. Less than an hour before, he had lost the best horse in his string. Though not of good breeding by any means, the strong, sturdy gelding had been his favorite. Never again would the affectionate beast nuzzle his hands and search the pockets of his burnoose for a piece of bread or a bit of dried fruit. "Ah, well," he mused to himself, "such is the unfathomable course of fate, and it is useless to attempt to avoid it. What will be, will be." He shook his head. Perhaps the horse was better off than the rest of them. "May I have the strength to face whatever terrors await!"</p><p>With reverence Ganbar drew the amulet from around his neck, brought the charm up to his lips, and kissed the image. His mouth felt warm as it lingered against the charm, and his fears fled away like frightened birds. Touching the image was always a comfort, but as he rode down the hill, he wondered if the charm was powerful enough to protect him in this unholy place. Troubled at the thought, he slowly pushed the charm back into his tunic. "Curse the wicked djinns for their evil ways! May they be condemned forever to the darkest pits of the night!" he swore vehemently to himself and spat on the ground. "What cunning wonders and deceitful marvels do they have in store for us now?"</p><p>Tense and edgy, the six riders stared with dread upon the city. As they watched, the metal teeth of the mighty portcullis rose steadily up into the gatehouse like the opening jaws of a great monster. From out of the portal rode a somber contingent of horsemen. Slowly the dark-clad procession made its way down the winding road, its curving line resembling a slithering serpent of blackest onyx. </p><p>"It seems that there is a welcoming party coming out to greet us." His eyes narrowing, Esarhaddon's face grew grim as he watched the approaching line.</p><p>"Have you ever noticed that even when there are no guards about, they always know when someone is coming?" Inbir's hushed voice was filled with apprehension.</p><p>Drops of cold sweat broke out on Ganbar's forehead, and he wiped his sweaty palms off on his filthy pantaloons. It was torment to be this frightened, but he was determined to appear unperturbed. "It is times like this when I wish that I had my hookah." Laughing far too loudly, he looked around, and when he saw that no one else joined him, he muttered to himself for a few moments and then fell into a resentful silence. "Someday I am going to learn to keep my mouth shut," he told himself.</p><p>Descending the hill, the band of slavers and their charges came to the narrow valley floor. The bleak mountains seemed to close in around them like walls, making them feel trapped and caged. The sensation of being watched had intensified until the very air seemed to vibrate and hum with angry, accusing voices. Men could be driven mad if they strained their ears to decipher the barely heard whispers. A sheen of sweat broke out on Ubri's forehead and he clenched his brow as though warding away dark spirits which sought to seep through his skull and devour his brain.</p><p>Before them, the Morgulduin flowed silent and cold under the magnificently wrought stone bridge. Mists poured off the surface of the silvery waters like steam rolling from the top of a boiling cauldron, rising into the air to be scattered by a warm eastern breeze. Through the ever shifting mists, the travelers beheld the city of Minas Morgul, the pallid, ghostly dwelling place of the unquiet dead. Falling in terraces like the cascading tiers of a fountain, the city towered above them, austere and apathetic like a snow-capped mountain. Here and there on the slopes which led up to the city grew groves of dark junipers and cedars like clusters of spear points. Wide meadows filled with white flowers lay upon either side of the river, fading into a vague carpet which reached the alabaster walls.</p><p>A fragrant haze hung over the meads like the phosphorescent vapors which rise over a fetid swamp, or the mists which coil about the barrows of the dead upon a foggy night. The perfume of the ghostly pale blossoms was like the scents of every flower wrapped up in one, tinged with exotic essences and spices for which Elfhild and Elffled had no names. The flowers appeared to be some type of poppy, with papery white petals that seemed as delicate as a butterfly's wing. Mingled with the pallid blossoms were orbs of frosted celadon crowned with purple coronels. Perched high upon slender stems, they resembled the sceptres of a legion of forgotten kings whose frail mortal flesh had long since rotted into the earth, their only memorials the flowers which had been planted upon their graves. These were the barren remnants of blooms past, filled with smoky black seed for yet another harvest in the endless cycle of death and rebirth. Delicate black butterflies flitted from blossom to blossom, becoming drunken upon their bewitching fumes, and strange black-and-silver honeybees gathered the magical nectar to take back to their hives.</p><p>As they trotted their horses through the fields of white flowers, it seemed to both sisters that the unusual plants sprang from the ground full grown and blooming. After rapidly metamorphosing through the course of their season, the petals dropped away to reveal bulbous seed pods. Within a single heartbeat, the seed pods turned dark and burst open, scattering tiny seeds everywhere. Immediately, new stems surged from the earth and burst into pale blossoms.</p><p>The twins gazed in disbelief, first at the blooms, and then at the men, who appeared to be completely oblivious to the demented growth all around them. How could they be so calm? Had the aberrant valley somehow robbed the Southrons of their sight? Even their horses seemed far too calm and steady! This was just too much for Elfhild's mind. Dark spots swam across her vision, and she felt close to fainting. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she blindly groped for the pommel of her saddle in an attempt to hang onto something which was solid and real.</p><p>The stinging slap of a riding crop across Elfhild's thigh shocked her back to her senses, and she looked up into the angry eyes of Esarhaddon. Another bite of the crop's tongue across her leg made her squeal in pain. "Mercy, Master, no more!" she begged, but her plea was in vain, for the sting of the crop fell on her thigh a third time.</p><p>"Pretty trinket, if you should faint, expect nothing better than a pail of water thrown in your face to wake you up! Then after I have you stripped, I will tie you up and beat that lovely arse of yours in front of my men! Now move! You are holding up the line!"</p><p>"Yes, Master," she mumbled deferentially and tightened her hold on the reins. When she blinked her tear-filled eyes and looked all around her, she discovered that the deranged garden had stilled its ceaseless cycle of life and death, and the flowers seemed to be content to grow the same as any other plant. Somehow the startling normalcy was more disconcerting than the peculiar animation, and Elfhild rubbed her eyes, uncertain if what she saw truly existed.</p><p>As they rode across the narrow valley, the sisters glanced around at the other perverted vegetation which grew in the meadows, bordering the fields, in waste places, and on the edges of the woods. Bushes covered with pale trumpet-shaped flowers sprung up here and there, and dainty purple nightshade grew between strangely wrought trees. Along the rocky hillsides, there grew henbane plants with veiny green and purple blossoms, stinking hellebores, purple wolfsbane, various poisonous spurges which caused caustic lesions to the skin, and mystical shrubs whose leaves, stems and roots brought bouts of frenetic energy if eaten.</p><p>In the shadowy recesses among the upraised roots of bizarrely formed trees, there grew mushrooms in profusion. Some were long and spindly like twisted mûmak tusks, their stems gray and mauve, akin to beryllium ore in color. Tiny circlets like bronze torcs were about their necks, and atop their heads were caps of golden ginger. Others among the robust fungi had wide tops like saucers which had been painted a cheerful color of red and dappled with white spots before being fired in the kiln. A dainty fringe circled about their middles like tiny skirts.</p><p>The party had entered the Garden of the Lord of the Nazgûl, and many remarkable wonders grew there, not the least or greatest of which were the snowy white blossoms for which the valley was famous.</p>
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<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Vale of Illusion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>Over the years, scribes and learned men of the East and West have recorded many accounts of brave, steadfast men who were reduced to a state of gibbering lunacy by the horrors which they had encountered in the Morgul Vale. To protect their realm, the sorcerer lords who ruled the valley had wrapped a veil of enchantment over the land. For almost a millennium, these cunning spells of warding had played with men's minds, divining their weaknesses and then exploiting them. The victims' doubts and trepidation would increase until pure abject terror seized their minds, twisting their perceptions and warping their senses. Now completely at the mercy of these deceiving enchantments, they could no longer fathom what was real and what was false. There were only a few, those who were made of stauncher stuff and filled with great strength of will and purpose, who could face these formidable obstacles and come out virtually unscathed. That the archives record so few of these singular individuals is a reflection of the sorry state to which the race of Men had fallen.</p><p>Enemy spies who had made their way into the valley by means of stealth and secrecy would often lose their noble resolve under the influence of these bewitchments. Sometimes men would experience hallucinations so vivid and intense that they became convinced that they were real. While camping in the forbidden vale, two intruders might be tricked by lying spell-wrought delusions. Where one man would see a beautiful woman reclining in all her nude glory on bed of wildflowers, his comrade would think that he saw a sluggish lizard sunning itself upon a rock. The pair would disagree over what they had observed, and then the argument would turn bitter and angry. Enraged, the two would fall upon each other with knives and swords until one lay dead, or they had been captured and dragged to the dungeons of Minas Morgul by the ever present uruk-hai. By the waning years of the Third Age, the men of Gondor were too frightened of the valley and surrounding mountains to venture east of the Southward Road. </p><p>Though the sentient spells could divine friend from foe to a great extent, even allies of Mordor and Minas Morgul were not wholly immune to visions and delusions. Still, though, the valley was far kinder to them, and seldom were any driven to madness or murder. The Nazgûl could hardly afford to make the valley appear too pleasant to outsiders, even their own allies, for there was always the possibility that loose tongues would wag, either by accident or under duress. The guardians of the western gate of Mordor did not wish to take that chance, and so they created spells that would intimidate even their own allies. These ancient enchantments had lain over the valley for so long that they had almost taken on a life of their own. Though acting independently in a sense, still they were powerless to change the intent of the unseen runes which summoned them forth, and ever were they under the complete control of their masters.</p><p>Perhaps the reason why Elfhild and Elffled perceived only beauty in the valley and the men saw a stark, grim landscape can never be fully explained. Maybe the sentient spells sensed that the Southrons were allies and gave them a small glimpse of the vale's inherent supernatural might as a warning against treachery. On the other hand, perhaps the spells were a source of torment to the men because of their staunch determination to deny that the valley was truly bewitched. As for the sisters, who can say? Perhaps the spells played upon their fanciful imaginations and gave them visions of loveliness instead of ones of dread. Whatever the case, while the sisters saw a magnificent city of palest alabaster surrounded by fields of lovely white poppies, the men saw a foreboding citadel surrounded by endless walls and grotesque plants which reeked of death and decay.</p><p>"What a filthy stench!" Ubri blurted out, quickly clamping his nostrils shut with his thumb and forefinger. "Nothing could smell any more like the rotting guts of a horse than these loathsome charnel weeds! Every time I have to pass through here, I feel as though I will cough out my lungs!" Clutching his throat, Ubri coughed up a thick wad of mucus and spat it towards the orc's back. When his aim fell short, he cursed and then was seized by a spasm of coughing.</p><p>"Be quiet, man!" Inbir hissed. "Do not insult their pretty flowers if you value your life and the lives of this party!" All of them had gone through enough as it was that day, and it would be just their bad luck if Ubri's grumbling remarks got them in trouble with the arrogant rulers of the valley. He did not want to be imprisoned in the infamous dungeons of Minas Morgul!</p><p>"Yes, yes, to be sure," Ubri rasped out. All he could taste was the pungent aroma of the malodorous charnel flowers, and his nose and throat stung as though they had been irritated by eating too much black pepper. "If I must, I will say that they are magnificent... but then again I do not know much about flowers. Does that suit you?"</p><p>Inbir mumbled out a resentful, "Yes," and fell silent. </p><p>Put out of sorts by that confrontation, Ubri took some of the edge out of his frustration by flicking the tresses of his whip over the orc's legs. "Maybe a little punishment to one of their wayward soldiers will give me their favor," he thought wryly. The whip made a satisfyingly loud slap as it struck the orc's legs and caused him to jump forward. As Ubri glanced briefly over his shoulder, Inbir saw the glint of cruelty in the other man's smile before he turned away.</p><p>They were almost upon the bridge when Elfhild noticed a gap in the retaining wall which ran alongside the road. Passing through the gap, a path wound its way up the mountainside and disappeared around a bend. Curious, she wondered where this road went. </p><p>Ganbar, riding behind her, cleared his throat with a cough. "I see you are gawking up at that path. You do not even want to think about going up there," he told her ominously. </p><p>"Why, Master?" she asked, fear evident in her voice.</p><p>He spat and then wiped his mouth off with his fingers. "Rumor has it that there is some kind of monster up there that will gobble up little girls like you two." Both sisters' eyes went wide and they stared back at him.</p><p>"My lord Esarhaddon," Elffled asked tremulously, "is that true? Is there a monster up there?"</p><p>"Nonsense!" he snorted. "Ganbar is just teasing you."</p><p>"Yes, my lord." Ganbar scratched a spot on his face where some sort of insect had bitten him. Frowning, he stared up at the trail. "I was only joking." He knew that if the sisters ever found out the dark truth of the Spider Pass, they would beg the slaver to take them away from the place as fast as their horses could gallop. Pity mixed with affection stirred inside him as he watched them ride ahead. "Such tender, lovely things to endure a place like this!"</p><p>As they trotted closer to the bridge, the horses pricked their ears forward. The animals tossed their heads and pulled at their bits as though they were heading to the stable and grain and water after a long and arduous ride. Much against the principles of sound horsemanship, the men let their mounts have their way. Setting their own pace, the horses lifted their legs high and stepped out in a rapid, prancing trot.</p><p>The bridge rose before them now, spanning the steaming waters of the Morgulduin. Never before had the twins seen a structure so magnificent, and they wondered who had built it. The bridge across the Anduin had been a lowly pontoon, but this bridge was strong and mighty, its piers set deep into the riverbed. Guarding both the north and south entrances of the bridge were statues of kingly men atop rearing war chargers. The twins thrilled at the strength and nobility which the master sculptor had depicted in the men's faces. Other statues lined the balustrades of the bridge, but they were far less impressive than the noble lords.</p><p>Ever inquisitive, Elfhild glanced over at Esarhaddon and dared to ask, "My lord, if you do not think me presumptuous, may I ask the names of the great kings whose likenesses are depicted in these statues?" She hoped that such an innocent question would not displease the slaver, but she was unsure what his reaction would be.</p><p>"What are you talking about?" Esarhaddon asked incredulously, a tone of scorn in his voice. "Presumptuous? You often are that, slave girl, but in this case I think that you have been influenced by inhaling the fragrance of these deadly flowers for far too long! There are no statues of kings! I see them the same as you, and the representations are of hideous demons shaped like flying serpents!"</p><p>"Master," Elffled spoke up timidly, "I, too, see wondrous statues of proud and lofty kings at the entry of the bridge." Though she preferred to keep quiet around the Southrons, she felt obligated to come to her sister's defense. Quickly she lowered her eyes, fearfully awaiting Esarhaddon's response. She wished that Elfhild would learn to keep quiet. It was best to agree with whatever the Southrons said, do whatever they wanted, never contradict them, always smile sweetly, and speak in demure tones. No one would be hurt that way, and the men would treat them with much greater kindness. </p><p>"Wenches, what sort of childish games are you attempting to play with me?" Esarhaddon bellowed. "Whatever they are, I do not find them amusing!" Unsettled by his loud voice, his mare flicked an ear questioningly back towards him. "You must put away such imaginings, or I promise you that I will take your delusions out of you with the whip!" Under his tawny skin, the slaver's face flushed red with anger, and he tapped the riding crop rapidly up and down on his thigh.</p><p>Elfhild's heart began to pound, sending blood rushing to her skull. Her breath coming quickly, she clutched at the side of her head. Her throat felt dry and constricted, and she forced herself to swallow. This was just too bizarre! Were she and her sister the ones who were hallucinating? Or did they see the valley as it truly was? What was real? What was illusion? She felt her grasp on reality slipping, leaving her disoriented and bewildered. Panicking, she burst out into tears. "My lord, are you trying to drive us both mad?" Her voice rose high and shrill. "How can both my sister and I have the same delusions? If what we see before us is not real, then what is?"</p><p>"Enough! I will hear no more of this!" Esarhaddon ordered in a tone that told her that the conversation was concluded. He was coming to the conclusion that the girl had been mad all along, even before the day that she was captured, and the stress and strain of slavery, combined with the long, arduous journey, had unstrung her mind. He had endured enough of her ranting, and refused to listen to any more. He had to tend to matters far greater than the delusional ramblings of slave girls.</p><p>Ignoring the twins, Esarhaddon stared across the river, his eyes narrowing to dark slits as he watched the progression of the somberly clad horsemen as they rode down the winding road from the city. The twins grew even more apprehensive as they watched his scowling features betray the unease that every member of the party shared. Inhaling deeply, he sat straight and tall in the saddle, his body as motionless as one of the statues. The orc could smell the raw fear in the men's sweat, and had he not been bound and in pain, he would have delighted in their terror.</p><p>"Be silent, both of you," Esarhaddon hissed, turning to each girl. "The rulers of this city are mighty warlords, great and powerful men who are stern and unyielding. Their ways are different from those of both your people and mine. They have no law save their own; they honor no one higher than themselves; and they possess the power of life and death over all who pass through their valley. Fear them!"</p><p>With those words, he kicked his mare into a canter and thundered across the bridge. Once the slaver's party was on the other side, he ordered them to halt. Setting his face straight ahead, he looked beyond his mare's head towards Minas Morgul. Even though Esarhaddon seemed calm and unperturbed, he had certain qualms about the impending meeting. He had paid all the required tolls and tariffs that guaranteed safe passage through the land, but one never knew when the rulers of the valley might turn treacherous on a whim. The other riders waited nervously as the black procession wound its way through the meadows of chimerical flowers. </p><p>Esarhaddon and all his men had encountered the Seneschal of Dushgoi before, but each time, they had been left feeling uneasy, and they were never quite certain why. They could do nothing now except wait in anxious expectation and hope they did nothing to offend the rulers of the valley. They prayed they would be allowed to leave the valley alive and unharmed, both in body and mind. Their thoughts tormented by fear and doubt, they watched in silence, no one daring even to whisper.</p><p>As the black procession wound its way through the meadows, the celadon stems, crowned with stark white blossoms, burst from the ground once again in some morbid parody of the cycle of life and death. This time, everyone in the small party beheld the pallid flowers in their demented glory, but no one dared say one word of the surreal phantasmagoria all around them. "It cannot be real... I know now that nothing here is real," Ganbar told himself and made the sign against evil behind his back.</p><p>Elfhild took a deep breath and immediately felt a dreamlike euphoria as she stared mindlessly at the animated flowers. "Lovely... so lovely," she whispered as an achingly beautiful poppy suddenly sprouted from the ground in full bloom, the petals a dark ebony shade. The cloying fragrance of the poppies filled her nostrils, clouding her mind with a murky, somnolent haze. It was as though her skull were filled with the deep purple dust which crowned the flowers' graceful, delicate stamens. Her eyelids fluttering, she held onto the pommel of the saddle and felt the most curious sensation that she was floating towards the city. Never in all of her life had she felt more carefree and happy than she did at that moment! She imagined singing and dancing through the meads as she picked bouquet after bouquet of poppies. Never again would there be sadness, despair, pain, suffering, tragedy. Never again would a good man like Tarlanc die for nothing. There would be nothing terrible and evil and savage in her life, only a sense of peaceful calm and rest. Nothing existed now except the city, the flowers, and her!</p><p>"Please forgive me," she sleepily intoned, as though one in a trance, "but give me leave to alight from my horse and walk among the flowers.... there is a black one for which I have taken a fancy and wish to keep..."</p><p>She leaned out far over the saddle and her fingertips grazed a black petal. She giggled with joy as she felt its softness beneath her fingers. A wave of darkness passed over her and she fell into blissful oblivion, sliding from the saddle to land among the pale white flowers of the Morgul Vale.</p>
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<a name="section0031"><h2>31. The Seneschal of Minas Morgul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>"Stupid girl!" Esarhaddon muttered to himself as he slid from his saddle and walked briskly over to the fallen Elfhild. "Ganbar!" He glanced over at the other Southron, who had just dismounted. "Throw a pail of water in the little troublemaker's face! That ought to wake her up!" The Shakh was enraged. He had planned everything so well. All the required papers had been correctly filled out, and after they had been inspected and approved, he and his men could quickly be on their way. But no! The miserable wench's faint would detain them! "She has caused trouble from the moment that Awidan bought her from the army!" he railed to himself. He nudged Elfhild's hip with the toe of his boot, but she did not move.</p><p>"My lord," Ganbar spoke up hesitantly, his homely face filled with concern, "the water is more of a punishment than a way of waking someone, and I do not think she deserves such treatment... Mint leaves under her nose will wake her up more gently. At least they will not harm her." The Shakh was often cruel, Ganbar acknowledged, but what he wanted to do now was foolish and might even hurt the girl. There were times when a man had to speak up to his employer and tell him when he was wrong, no matter the consequences. "This is one of those times," he sighed and pulled on his earlobe as he waited for Esarhaddon's rebuke. </p><p>"A little water will not harm her! Her clothes are soaked as it is!" the slaver snapped as his dark eyes flared dangerously at Ganbar. "You heard what I said--"</p><p>"No!" Elffled screamed as she clambered off her mount. Dodging around the milling horses, she avoided Ganbar's surly mount which had laid back its ears and bared its teeth at her. She jumped away from the ill-tempered beast, and, paying more attention to the horse than her feet, she landed in a pile of warm horse droppings. Her feet slid and she almost fell to the ground but righted herself just in time. Ignoring the jeering taunts of Ubri, she knelt beside Elfhild and clutched her protectively. "Please, Masters, no! Can you not see that she is still weak from the sun sickness!" She looked up at Esarhaddon, her eyes pleading.</p><p>"Silence, woman!" Esarhaddon thundered. "There will be no more histrionics today!" He signed to Inbir, who quickly dismounted from his horse. Inbir tied his own mount and the pack horses to some spindly shrubs at the side of the road and then sprinted towards the two girls. "Inbir, get her sister out of the way!" the slaver growled, his voice cold and angry. "This one will be taught never to meddle in what I do! If the girl tries to return to her sister, tie her!" </p><p>"Aye, Shakh," Inbir acknowledged as he bent and grabbed Elffled's wrist. He looked into the cringing girl's terrified eyes. "You heard what he said! Get up!"</p><p>"Y-y-yes, Master," Elffled stammered as she stumbled to her feet. Standing there with her head bowed, she closed her eyes, bracing herself for a blow. Not speaking, Inbir tugged her stumbling along behind him to the edge of the road.</p><p>"Kneel!" his voice grated out. "Do not move, do not talk, do not look up, or I will bind your hands and feet and tie you to the back of your horse! Just be an obedient slave and everything will go well!" </p><p>Elffled knelt at his feet, the unhappy portrait of resignation. The slavers would do whatever they wanted with Elfhild and her, but what could she expect? They were women of a conquered country, prizes of war. Though they might hate it, this was to be their lot in life. Elffled waited to hear the splash of the water which she knew was sure to come.</p><p>The tepid water hit Elfhild full in the face, but she did not awaken. "Give her another dose!" Esarhaddon ordered, but still the girl slept among the flowers. He cursed his luck, the whole recapture venture, his men, the women, the bridge, the valley, and the whole world as he watched the procession halt ten yards ahead of them. "I suspect that the rebel schemed with her sister to cause a commotion that would embarrass me before the Seneschal and his men! Both of them have succeeded at that all too well! The Seneschal will think me an incompetent fool who cannot even control his own slaves!"</p><p>He gripped the hilt of his riding crop so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Simple though they were, women's minds were wickedly cunning, and, like children, they would turn to mischief if they were not perpetually restrained. Once they were out of the sight of the city, he would whip these two troublemakers until their backs and buttocks bled! With a quick motion of his fingers, he signed to Ganbar and Inbir, telling them to drag Elfhild over to her sister's side and lay her face down upon the ground. Perhaps the Seneschal would think that the girl was prostrating herself before him, or had fainted dead away in fear.</p><p>Her heart pounding, Elffled knelt in homage to the Morgul lords, her forehead pressing against the damp earth. From out of the corner of her eye, she cast a worried glance towards her sister, who still had not recovered. Oh, they were in a terrible predicament now! The slavers were exceedingly wroth at them, and powerful men of Mordor who terrified even the Southrons were steadily approaching. Oh, they were doomed! </p><p>Three of the riders separated from the group and trotted their ebony steeds forward. The beasts were immense, fearsome-looking chargers which snorted threateningly as they kept their eyes on the party of Southerners. Massive warhorses, they tossed their heads proudly, sending streams of froth flying. They bore the regalia of their city - silver ribbons woven into their manes and tails; black saddles, headstalls and breast pieces of the finest leather and workmanship; and black caparisons adorning their flanks. Their tack was inscribed with silver runes and sickle moons and embellished with bouncing silver tassels. </p><p>Their riders were turned out magnificently in the same black and silver livery as their steeds. All three wore hooded cloaks dark as the veil of night, the silver crescent-shaped brooches at their shoulders gleaming in sharp contrast. The elbow-length sleeves of their mail shirts peeked out from beneath their sleeveless black surcoats and glistened like ice in the sun. Beneath their mail, they wore black tunics, the sleeves and hems edged with argent embroidery. Their hands were covered with black leather gloves, while their feet were shod with tall black riding boots that had been polished to a dull sheen. Ornate scabbards concealed deadly swords and hung from belts which were embossed with intricate silver designs.</p><p>Two of the horsemen had pulled their hoods down so low that their faces were completely obscured by the shadowy folds. Little imagination was needed to see them as faceless spectres of death, come to take the doomed by violent means. The center horseman, however, wore a silver mask which had been cunningly crafted to depict the clean-shaven face of a young man. The features, finely chiseled and angular, were of a nobleman who surveyed the world with the cynical ennui of the cosmopolitan. His eyes were lost in the shadowy gloom of the mask, and only appeared as black slits. The most richly dressed of the three, he boasted fine leather gauntlets, the tops of which were stitched with rings of steel. Chains of regal medallions cascaded down his broad chest, proclaiming his royal powers.</p><p>The three horsemen brought their horses to a halt about ten feet in front of the Southerners. The air seemed to grow colder as the center rider urged his horse forward. The Southrons sank to their knees and bowed their heads. Still mounted, Ubri inclined his head and kept it down. The orc shook from head to toe and began to wail, but the gag muffled the sound. </p><p>Mounted on their great steeds, the three black riders surveyed the small party. "Hail Esarhaddon uHuzziya," the middle rider solemnly intoned in a voice as chill as the breath of death. </p><p>Beneath his masked helm, the Seneschal arched an aristocratic eyebrow, his arrogant lips slowly curling up into an apathetic smile. He inhaled deeply, the nostrils of his high, aquiline nose dilating as he sniffed the air. The noonday sun was bright overhead, and with his dimmed vision, he could barely make out the Southrons' shadowy forms. Relying on his horse's sight and senses, he surveyed the scene before him and laughed humorlessly. But there, what was that? That delicious smell he detected among the foul odors of living men? He tested the currents again, breathing deeply and letting the air slide slowly through his nostrils. Then his eyes glinted a faint crimson as he identified that very intriguing odor almost submerged beneath the reeking stench of fear, sweat, spices and horseflesh. Ahhh, he delighted in the scent of living women! </p><p>"You may rise," he commanded coldly, dismissing the pathetic wretches' show of respect with an indifferent wave of his hand. His cold eyes glittering, he watched as the three men rose to their feet. They stank of fear, their bodies oozing the stench from every pore. Always the odor both offended and excited him. Through his horse's eyes, he visualized the one who feared him most. Such information could be of use someday, for he would always remember the individual scent of each one at the bridge. "The orc," he thought, "and then the man who guards him." He smiled smugly with the knowledge.</p><p>"Hail, Lord Kalus, most esteemed and honorable Seneschal in the service of the illustrious Lord of the Moonlit City which is like none other upon the face of the earth! May both you and your glorious King live forever and a day! May good fortune attend your path and abundant blessings be upon you, your city, and your house! Greetings and felicitations!" Bowing from the waist, Esarhaddon touched his hand to his heart, his lips and finally his forehead as he straightened up. His men repeated the gesture, but they did not look up as they rose to their feet.</p><p>Phrasing an appropriate greeting for such a fearsome lord had always been a problem for Esarhaddon, and once again he was certain that his speech was woefully lacking. A salutation suitable for a nomadic shakh or a powerful sultan of the South seemed entirely out of place when dealing with this man. The slave trader had been rehearsing his greeting ever since his party had left the Anduin, and though he had memorized the words perfectly, still he was not satisfied with the greeting. But how did one greet a personage who caused his men and him to feel lowly, inferior, and very much intimidated? "Well," he decided, "if he does not like it, so be it. I will remind him that I have paid an extravagant amount for the right to buy slaves from the army, and then perhaps he and the rest of them will remember that they are more in my debt than I am in theirs."</p><p>"Shakh Esarhaddon uHuzziya," the Seneschal touched his fingers to his lips as though suppressing a yawn, "if you think to impress me by your tedious grandiloquence, do not flatter yourself. Your pretentious salutations do nothing but weary me greatly. I already know why you are here. You have come to ask for my blessing as you pass through the valley."</p><p>"My Lord Kalus--" Esarhaddon began, but was quickly interrupted by the Seneschal's cold voice.</p><p>"Esarhaddon uHuzziya, we have been expecting you," the Seneschal briskly told him as he slowly stroked his horse's ebony neck. "The rest of your caravan passed through here three days ago. Your servant, Tushratta, informed me that you and your men would be delayed while you rode off in search of runaway slaves." He paused, enjoying the effect which he and his men had upon the Southrons. When he spoke again, his voice dripped with sarcasm. "What a pity that you have returned with only two out of the seven who were missing. You must be quite disappointed at such meager results." The Seneschal chuckled to himself. These insignificant fools had been outwitted by women and children. "How droll," he mused to himself. Seldom did he find anything of humor while attending to his grim duties, but this was so entertaining that he had to suppress the urge to laugh out loud. </p><p>"My lord, the three boys and the two women were not worth the effort it would cost to look for them," Esarhaddon stated defensively. "We gave up the hunt in Anórien. Possibly one of the patrols might yet find the runaways and return them."</p><p>Esarhaddon had dealt with the Seneschal before and knew him to be an arrogant devil who enjoyed belittling other men and making them feel low. He sensed that the Seneschal was laughing at him behind that mask. Angry, he refused to be mocked by this haughty puppet of the Lord of Minas Morgul, and so he determined to keep his eyes fixed upon the slits of the terrible silver mask and stare him down.</p><p>After a long moment, he was sure that he had caught a flutter of movement at the eye holes, as though the Seneschal had averted his gaze briefly. The slaver stared at the mask for a long moment. "He cannot seem to look me in the eye," he thought triumphantly. "Like a dog that barks and then runs away," he gloated to himself, keeping his eyes riveted on the Seneschal. Esarhaddon began to laugh, but when he opened his mouth, a brilliant white light flashed before his eyes and his lids clamped shut. The agony racked his skull and he felt as though his eyeballs might burst. No longer able to think, he forced himself to endure the pain. When the brilliance faded, he discovered that his vision was blurry and his eyes burnt and stung as tears began to gather.</p><p>"Damn," he thought as he was forced to look down, "this sun is a great burning blaze in the sky and the reflection from the mask is blinding me!" He would not give into the pain and rub his eyes. He would not let this insolent steward see his distress! The burning sensation increased until it seemed that his eyes were filled with acid. The proud slaver was compelled to rub his eyes to relieve the agony.</p><p>"Is something in your eyes?" the Seneschal inquired patronizingly, a mockery of pitying concern in his voice. Such attention was far more threatening than comforting, and made one wish that he had never attracted the notice of the black rider.</p><p>"My lord," Esarhaddon gritted his teeth, "I have nothing in my eyes. I am merely being blinded by the sun!"</p><p>"Aye, the day is... bright." The Seneschal nodded, somewhat reflectively, as though enjoying a jest which no one else understood. "Perhaps there is some ointment in my saddlebags which might assuage your affliction." Reaching back to one of his saddlebags, he began to open the flap.</p><p>"No, my lord," Esarhaddon answered quickly, "my eyes feel much better now." He did not wish to be in debt in any way to one of these petty magicians! The only thing he wanted from them was gold! You could never tell when one of them might give you a malicious potion which would cause some disastrous malady or even death!</p><p>"As you will, Shakh," the Seneschal nodded. "I will now claim the prisoner that you hold in your keeping."</p><p>"Gladly, my lord," Esarhaddon replied, staring fixedly off in the distance to the city. He was determined not to look into those dread eye holes again. "We found this rogue spying upon my women when they were bathing in the stream up the way. We did not slay him, for we thought it more appropriate that he face the City's justice." The slaver turned to Ubri. "Captain, deliver the prisoner to his masters." He stepped out of the way to allow Ubri to ride up with the orc.</p><p>Beneath his mask, the Seneschal smiled cruelly as he glanced over his shoulder at the two dark riders behind him. A bit of work in the dungeons that afternoon might prove an interesting diversion from the eternal boredom to which he had been condemned. "Take the felon inside the walls! Restrain him there until my return." Wordlessly, the two riders behind him bowed their heads in silent affirmation and then looked back up in perfect unison.</p><p>"Aye, my lord," one of the horsemen replied, his words sounding lifeless and distant, as though they were coming from a pit beneath the earth. Silently taking the orc's rope from Ubri's hand, he turned his horse around and dragged the shrieking orc back to the column.</p><p>"Now I must see your papers, a mere formality which you must complete before I can allow you to pass beyond this point. You will now present them to me." The Seneschal's restless horse pawed one great hoof upon the ground. Patting the animal's shoulder, he intoned a few soft phrases in High Black Speech. The fidgety animal soon quieted.</p><p>"My lord, it will take only a moment to retrieve them." Esarhaddon would be glad when this business was over, and they could leave this dreadful city. After walking over to his horse and retrieving the required papers, he presented the documents to the Seneschal. "Here, I think you will find that everything is in order," he told him, trying to keep the irritation and tension from his voice.</p><p>Bending over the documents, the Seneschal perused each page, taking advantage of the shade created by his hood. It seemed to the Southrons that the steward was taking an inordinately long time to study the papers, and a cold sweat broke out over their foreheads. Finally the lord lifted his hooded head and stared directly at the slaver. Esarhaddon felt uncomfortable as the Seneschal's eyes bored into him. His men, all tense and edgy, stared past this formidable personage and looked up the road at the body of ten horsemen waiting behind him. Their path was blocked, both in front and behind them, and if any trouble happened, there was no way they could escape. No matter how hard they fought, they were outnumbered, and a fight with the grim horsemen would end in death. Nervously, they shifted their feet. Behind his back, Ganbar frantically made the sign against evil. All of the Southrons were sweating heavily now, a chill sweat which beaded up on their foreheads and oozed from their pores. Their minds filled with apprehension, they waited and hoped that this situation would not end with a clash of arms.</p><p>"Shakh Esarhaddon, since you passed through the valley earlier this month, the toll has increased by ten percent. As you know, there is a war going on, and the passage of troops and heavy wagons causes damage to the road, resulting in broken and cracked pavement, loose cobblestones, and the formation of treacherous ruts. I informed your servant Tushratta of the new toll, and he paid the difference from the caravan's coffers. However, it seems that he neglected to pay the fees required for the passage of you and your men, and the two slaves in your company. Perhaps he did not know how many escaped slaves, if any, you would recover, and so decided it was best for his employer to pay the toll himself. If you are to continue your journey into Mordor, you and your men must each pay ten coppers, plus an additional five coppers each for the slave women."</p><p>"What?!" Esarhaddon bellowed. "I have already paid all the required tolls, taxes, fees, and tariffs! This is highway robbery!" It was not that the tolls were too high, for it was nothing to a wealthy man such as he to part with fifty copper coins. It was just the principle of it all that gnawed at him! The Lords of Morgul always asked too much, and if they could, they would wring the coins from his purse like water from a rag!</p><p>"You insult me, Esarhaddon uHuzziya!" Anger flared in the Seneschal's voice, and Esarhaddon thought he caught a flash of crimson from the eye holes in the man's mask. "One does not simply walk into Mordor without paying all the required tolls! This valley belongs to the Lords of Minas Morgul, and once you are here, you will obey me!"</p><p>"This is preposterous, and I will file a complaint when we near the Dark Tower!" Esarhaddon choked out in rage, so infuriated that he could barely speak. Reaching for the pouch at his belt, he counted out fifty copper coins and flung them angrily at the Seneschal. "Here is the rest of your accursed toll! Take it and let us pass!" </p><p>"I shall take the toll, Esarhaddon uHuzziya, and more besides! Thou shalt pay for thy impertinence, but not with coin!" The Seneschal threw his head back, his scathing laughter seeming to echo off the walls of the valley. A faint crimson gleam emanating from deep within the dark interiors of his eyes, the black stallion took a threatening step forward. The horse shook his great head back and forth, his flaring nostrils sucking in large breaths of air as one of his enormous hooves struck sparks on the pavement. </p><p>Above the slaver's party, the sky darkened, the Sun's light disappearing behind heavy gray clouds. As the men looked up at the brooding heavens, an oppressive, chilly mist rose from the ground and penetrated into their bones. The poppies began to sway back and forth, as though they were being stirred by a breeze, but the air was still and oppressive. The darkness thickened around the bridge and road. The men watched in terror as the Seneschal held up his right hand and intoned a chant in High Black Speech. Their faces twisting in agony, the three dismounted Southrons groaned and pitched forward, slumping unconscious to the ground. Moaning, Ubri slid from his horse and landed in a heap by the side of the road. The horses stamped nervously and shied away from the fallen men. Gasping in horror, Elffled stared transfixed at the Southrons, who lay pale and motionless as though they had been embraced by death.</p>
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<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Temptations and Loyalties</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>Her mouth gaping open, Elffled stared at the lifeless bodies of the Southrons, her mind reeling with horror. Four men had been murdered to appease this Seneschal's lust for coin. She knew little about the Southrons, but guessed they probably had wives, children, servants, and kinsmen who would grieve for them. She imagined the heartbreak their families would feel when tidings reached them of their bizarre deaths. Though Esarhaddon often treated her and her sister harshly, Elffled felt a reluctant loyalty to him, a strange bond forged of desperation. Now she and Elfhild were at the mercy of this Seneschal, a dark sorcerer who possessed terrible powers.</p><p>"This cannot be happening," she told herself, her mind in a state of disbelief. None of this was real... it was all just a horrible nightmare caused by the sleeping potion which Esarhaddon had put in her wine. Soon she would wake up and find herself back in the slaver's camp, protected by strong men. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to awaken from this demented fantasy. </p><p>"What do we have here?"</p><p>Elffled looked up to see the Seneschal towering over her. His shadow blocked out the light of the sun, and the air around him seemed cold and chill despite the balmy June day. Consumed with ever growing fear, Elffled felt as if she were shattering into a thousand little pieces like a vase dropped upon a cobblestone street. She sank to her knees in a trembling mass of mindless terror, her forehead pressing against the ground in subservience to this powerful sorcerer.</p><p>"You may rise," the Seneschal told her, and Elffled struggled to stand upon shaky legs. </p><p>"M-my sister is ill, my lord," Elffled stammered, her head bowed. "She cannot obey you, for she has fainted and now lies in a stupor."</p><p>"Ah, I see," the Seneschal murmured, tsking and shaking his hooded head. "The valley has that effect upon some." He bent down over the unconscious girl. His gloved hand hovered over her face for a few seconds, his fingers pulsing as though sensing the currents of the ethers, and then he inhaled deeply. Gathering her into his arms, he rose to his feet, and, in a voice cold and deadly, ordered Elffled to follow. She had no choice but to obey their new captor.</p><p>Walking past the unseen eyes of the dark escort, Elffled followed the Seneschal to a winding path which led through a grove of junipers. The trees grew close together, their scaly needles touching, their branches weaving together as though each tree were embracing its neighbor. Sunlight fell down through the tangled limbs, casting muted shafts of light and shadow over the little trail. Wild roses grew in the sunny places, their delicate vines sprawling over rocks and pebbles. A soft humming was heard every now and then as a black and silver bee lighted upon each dainty pink flower along the path. </p><p>The Seneschal laid Elfhild down upon a beautiful bench carved from pink and white marble. The back and sides of the stone couch were engraved with ornate floral designs which resembled vining roses clambering up elegant trellises. Crawling up and down the trunks of the trees which surrounded the bench were small phosphorescent worms which glowed like corpse lights against the shadowy bark.  </p><p>"Can… can you heal her, my lord?" Elffled asked timidly.</p><p>"Do I look like a healer?" the Seneschal asked, a hint of amusement in his cold, icy voice, as though enjoying some private jest. "I can do many things, the least of which is to revive this unfortunate maiden." </p><p>Kneeling over the unconscious girl, the Seneschal intoned a few phrases in an unfamiliar language. Elffled shivered at the knowledge that the sorcerer was performing some sort of magic ritual. Even if this unknown spell did restore her sister's health, she felt as though she were witnessing something which was inherently wrong. Magic deviated from the natural order of things, and thus it was forbidden. But, still, if it could help her sister…</p><p>Elfhild's eyes slowly fluttered open, and she looked up blearily at the hooded figure who loomed before her.</p><p>"Have you come to bear me away to the Halls of the Dead?" she whispered.</p><p>"Nay," the Seneschal chuckled, "I am here to return you to the land of the living."</p><p>Suddenly Elfhild realized that this was a noble lord of Minas Morgul, and not the grim spectre of Death. She sat up quickly, her intention to kneel upon the ground before him, but stars swirled in front of her eyes. Slumping forward, she clutched her head in her hands and moaned. Taking a seat beside her upon the marble bench, Elffled gently rubbed her back and shoulders. </p><p>"Look at me, both of you," the Seneschal commanded. "I want to see your eyes."</p><p>Fearfully, the sisters raised their heads and gazed upon the chin of the cold, emotionless silver mask. Creeping slowly, hesitantly, their eyes traveled up the metal face, their gaze meeting his unseen eyes. Abject terror ripped through the minds of both girls. Their hearts seemed to freeze, their breaths stolen from their chests, caught by an unseen hand. It was as though time itself had come to a grinding, screeching halt. Yet neither girl could turn away from the dark slits of the Seneschal's mask. He held their gaze captive like a great dragon of old, his will subduing theirs with little contest, and the twins sensed that he was weaving some enchantment over them. </p><p>With a sudden movement, the Seneschal pulled his helm from his head and held it under his arm. The twins were surprised at the man's appearance. They had expected to see a face marked with malice, but instead they saw a handsome young man with arresting gray eyes, a high, arrogant nose, and full, sensual lips. His long black hair escaped his padded arming cap and fell over his shoulders. His face was pallid, as though he spent most of his time inside in secret dark spell rooms, pouring over ancient grimoires. He smiled pleasantly at the girls, revealing pearly white teeth, but the perfection they saw could not disguise a cruel set to his lips. Elfhild noted that there was a gap between his front teeth, and she remembered the old sayings that such a trait was a sign of deep sensuality.</p><p>"Elfhild and Elffled, slaves from the wild hinterland of the North, I am the Seneschal of Minas Morgul," he stated in a deep, masterful voice. Cupping his chin in his hand, he studied them for what seemed like an eternity, the brooding expression on his face frightening to behold. Even though they were fully dressed, the sisters felt even more uncomfortable than they had when they stood naked before the slaver. The Seneschal's intense gaze bored into them, as though his eyes were attempting to pierce through their flesh and breech the very sanctity of their souls. Untrained as they were in guarding their thoughts, the twins gave the Seneschal little difficulty in divining their natures. He sensed that one girl was tormented with guilt and divided in loyalty between the country of her birth and the land of her conquerors. The other girl, however, was loyal only to her sister.</p><p>Dropping down to one knee, he reached out and took Elffled's hand in his. Straightening each long, slender finger, he inspected first one side of her hand and then the other. "A peasant maid," he remarked as he ran a thumb over her roughened palms. His fingers traveled upward to rub over the callouses which encircled her wrists. "Such lovely wrists to be bound all the time... such sweet, slender wrists." His eyes glanced up into hers, causing her heart to leap in her chest and a blush to appear on her cheeks. When he turned away from her, she was left feeling bewildered and strangely dejected.</p><p>The Seneschal lifted Elfhild's hand and cradled it between his two palms, giving it the same thorough inspection that he had given her sister's hand. "You should stop biting your fingernails," he admonished, frowning as he laid her hand back down upon her lap. "It flaws the perfection of your slender fingers."</p><p>"It is a bad habit of mine, my lord." Utterly baffled by this strange Seneschal, Elfhild drew her hands close to her stomach.</p><p>Turning his attentions back to Elffled, the Seneschal reached his long fingers up to touch the hollow of her neck. His caresses were like bolts of lightning which blazed white hot through her veins. Oh, what was happening to her? She did not know, and at that point, she did not really care. Her eyes fluttered closed, her lips parting as she sighed softly. "Such a delicate neck," she heard his husky voice murmur. "I can feel the blood pumping. The red rose, so vibrant, and the pink, so much alike, but quite different."</p><p>Slowly he traced the outline of her jaw with his finger. "Do not be frightened..." he whispered, his fingertips brushing over her cheeks and skimming over the bridge of her nose. His cool caresses traced a ribbon of fire down to her lips, a finger tracing over their full contours. Her head tilted forward, her blushing skin longing for a deeper touch. Two fingers gently probed her closed eyelids, much as a blind person reads the features of another with his fingers.</p><p>"You are beautiful."</p><p>A ripple of pleasure washed over her body and she moaned softly, her head tipping back. Caught in this strange feeling, she reached her hands out to clutch him, but he had moved away.</p><p>"And now you, Elfhild. Are you as beautiful as your sister?" His smoldering eyes bored into hers, causing a strange little shiver to race up her spine. He seized her shoulders, his fingers slipping under her collar to trace over the life-giving veins and arteries of her neck. He could feel her pulse; her heart was hammering wildly. Her terror was an exhilarating aphrodisiac, an intoxicating perfume which his flaring nostrils inhaled deeply. As he caressed her face, she surrendered to his touches, the wild beating of her heart slowing as a sigh of pleasure escaped her lips. He stroked her under her chin until her long eyelashes fluttered closed over passion-darkened eyes.</p><p>"Rise, my beauties," the Seneschal commanded, extending his hands to them. "It has been a pleasure speaking with you. I will take you back to the Southrons now. Would that we could meet again someday..."</p><p>Frightened thoughts swirling wildly through their heads, Elfhild and Elffled obediently followed the Seneschal along the winding path through the juniper grove. When they reached the bridge, the twins saw to their horror that the four Southrons had not moved, and lay as still as death upon the pale Morgul road. Just beyond the men, the black riders sat atop their ebony steeds, forming a semi-circle of guard. Standing out in sharp contrast against the surrounding landscape, their silent, brooding presences resembled a wall of shadow which seemed to absorb all light around them. </p><p>"Oh, great lord," Elffled gasped, turning frightened eyes to the Seneschal. "I thought you said you were taking us back to the Southrons. Why do they still lie upon the ground? Are they dead?"</p><p>"Dead?" the Seneschal asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and amusement. Once again he had hidden his handsome face behind the grim silver mask, and all that could be seen of his features was a strange glow around the eye slits.</p><p>"Yes, my lord," Elfhild spoke up fearfully. "How still they lie upon the ground, as though the bitter kiss of death were even now upon their pale lips!" On the verge of panic, she tried to calm the frantic beating of her heart as she stammered out, "Please, my lord, I beg you, awaken them from this deep slumber!"</p><p>"But they repose so peacefully..." His voice was a low hiss. "Would you have me disturb them from their blissful rest and return them to the twisted sham of life?" His eyes seemed to flash behind the slits of his mask, and the twins sensed that he was laughing at them all. "You have but to say the word, daughters of Eadbald the Brave, and these men will remain as you see them for all eternity. It matters not to me if life returns to their bodies or they molder into dust."</p><p>Elfhild blanched in horror at the thought of the lives of the four men being snuffed out like candles on a windy night. Though they were her enemies, they did not deserve to have such a horrible fate. "No, my lord!" she cried desperately, pleading with the Seneschal. "Please spare their lives!"</p><p>Slowly the Seneschal turned to face Elfhild. "Would you not take the opportunity to wreak your vengeance upon the enemies of your people? If they die, no one will ever know except the three of us. If you wished, you could come with me into the City. I am sure the Morgul Lord could find a place for you amongst his servants."</p><p>For one sickeningly long moment, Elfhild was tempted to beg the Seneschal to use his dark magic to slay the slave trader and his men. His words were a seductive whisper which tickled her ears and tantalized her senses. Visions of a future without the cruel Esarhaddon uHuzziya entered unbidden into her mind, filling her heart with a perverse hope of freedom. No longer would she live in fear of his anger and his whip. She and her sister would be free at last! She felt drunken with the power which she, a lowly slave, held over her masters - the ultimate power, the power of life and death. </p><p>"Oh, Gods, what am I thinking?!" her conscience cried out in anguish. That would be murder, cold-blooded, heartless murder! The very act of entertaining such ghastly fantasies made her feel like a murderess! Had war and tragedy twisted her that much? She jammed her knuckles into her mouth, biting down hard, punishing herself for her horrible thoughts, but the pain was not enough to cleanse her guilt-stained conscience. Though Esarhaddon often chastised her for trivial offenses, still he had never done anything severe enough to earn death as punishment. The man had even saved her life twice! She could not repay his mercy with treachery!</p><p>"No, dread lord, no!" Elfhild cried desperately, her hands clasped before her in supplication. "Spare the Southrons! Please spare them!"</p><p>"These men are enemies of your people," the Seneschal taunted. "They would gladly have claimed your kinsmen's lives, if they had the chance. Despite this, you would feel no hesitation in allowing them to live?"</p><p>"Oh, my lord, I cannot bear to see you kill them!" Elffled interrupted, tears welling up in her eyes as she looked to Esarhaddon and Inbir, who appeared close to the edge of death. She felt her heart stir with pity for both of them. The doughty Ganbar had been kind to them, and she would surely wish him no harm. Ubri, though... Perhaps it would be just as well if he were dead. "No, no!" she thought wildly. "I would not want the blood of anyone on my hands!"</p><p>"My lord, these men are but merchants," Elfhild spoke up bravely. "To my knowledge, they have never raised their swords in battle against my people. Though killing them might appeal to some, I cannot find it in my heart to order their executions. Nothing will bring my slain kinsmen back to life, not even the deaths of a whole army of orcs and men." Oh, how well she knew that bitter fact! </p><p>"Daughters of Eadbald, truly your loyalty should be commended." The Seneschal looked towards the unconscious Southrons. "I will spare these men at your request, although perhaps in time you may regret your mercy." He reached into a black leather bag at his belt and retrieved two silver coins, which he tossed to the twins. "Good slaves should always be rewarded for their fidelity and devotion. Although, now that I consider it, perhaps you should give these tokens to your master, as it seems that he feels that he is too poor to pay the tolls required to pass through my valley…" He threw back his head and laughed, a harsh, mocking sound which caused the twins to cower against each other.</p><p>The Seneshal took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Raising his right hand, he etched arcane symbols into the air as he softly chanted, "Nagraufom dhûlal!" Almost before the words were out of his mouth, the four men awakened and slowly sat up, groaning and looking around in confusion.</p><p>"Perhaps we shall meet again someday, maidens of sorrow!" The Seneschal laughed madly as he spurred his horse in the sides, causing the great stallion to spring forward. His laughter blew back to them on a cold wind as he galloped away towards the gleaming spectral city. His escort fell in behind him and the procession wound its way back up the winding road like a slithering serpent of shadow.</p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>Hidden amongst the trees and underbrush that covered the northern slopes of the Ephel Dúath, the scout watched the proceedings between the Seneschal of Minas Morgul and the two young women. Clad in garments stitched from patches of mottled green, brown and gray, the man blended into his surroundings like a chameleon perched on a branch. Though most men in his profession preferred to creep about under the cover of darkness, he was glad for the daylight, for he knew that the wraiths in the valley below could not see him. They were weakest during the noonday sun, for the light confused their senses and robbed them of the greater part of their power.<p>Several days ago, a large caravan of slaves from Rohan passed through the Morgul Vale, and from what he had been told by his superiors, a smaller party was expected to come along later. The scout suspected that this small group of travelers consisted of the slave trader and his men, along with two captives. The men were obviously Haradric, and the women appeared to be from Rohan.</p><p>What interest did the Seneschal have in the two women? He had worked his foul magic to cast some sort of spell of sleep over the slavers while he talked to the pair. One of the women appeared to have fainted as well, but the Seneschal carried her away. Or had she really fainted? Perhaps it had all been some sort of ruse… </p><p>Obviously, the Seneschal did not want the nature of his conversation to be overheard by the wrong ears. Though the scout's location gave him an excellent view of the valley below, he could not see what happened once the Seneschal and the women disappeared into the juniper grove. Obviously, something of great import transpired within the shelter of those close-growing trees. What sort of treachery was the wraith planning this time? </p><p>Perhaps the women were really spies in the service of Minas Morgul. At what price did the women of Rohan sell their loyalties to spy for their enemies? The scout shook his head. So much for the vaunted virtues of the decadent and morally corrupt West! Of course, he considered, perhaps these were not escaped Rohirric slaves after all, but Rhûnian spies in league with the wraiths… </p><p>Swiftly and stealthily the scout left his hidden vantagepoint and moved through the woods towards the east. His superiors would be very interested to hear all that he had beheld that day.</p><p>***<br/>NOTES</p><p>"Nagraufom dhûlal!" - Rise sleepers. "Nagraufom" - rise, MERP; "dhûlal" - sleep + -al (suffix that turns verb into noun).</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Valley of the Djinns</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild</p><p>Still reeling from the enchantments that the Seneschal had cast upon them, the Southrons fled from the wraith city, spurring their horses into a wild gallop as though a host of undead warriors were in hot pursuit. They kept this frantic pace until Minas Morgul lay far behind them, and then slowed their hot and lathered animals to a trot. The gloomy clouds which had shaded the sky over the city had long since floated on their way, and now the afternoon sun shone down upon the small party, drying their damp garments and causing sweat to bead up on their foreheads. Despite the warmth of the June day, however, the men could not shake away the chill which clutched their bodies and souls like the cold, bony hand of a Morgul wight.</p><p>For some time, Esarhaddon's men rode in silence as they tried to make sense of what had happened back at the city. The skies had grown black and threatening, and then they found themselves falling into darkness. Strange and twisted had been their dreams whilst in this ensorcelled state. In Inbir's vision, his body was sickly and withered with disease, and he struggled to escape from a deep ravine filled with hideous creatures of scale and fang. Ubri saw himself as a filthy beggar who wandered from city to city, only to be kicked and pelted with rocks and rotten vegetables and driven out into the desert to die. Although just as morbid, Ganbar's dream was slightly less terrifying than those of his fellows; he was an old man, ancient and wizened, and much to his chagrin, the spectre of Death had decided to claim his spirit the day before his 100th birthday.</p><p>After they had ridden a goodly distance from the city, Esarhaddon called a halt to allow the riders and their horses to rest. Though his men had been left shaken by their terrifying experience, the slaver was in a state of outrage over the whole affair. "Lord Kalus' shenanigans were not amusing!" he stormed angrily. "High lord though he is, the buffoon is no better than a petty brigand who preys upon travelers!"</p><p>"I would not speak so loudly, Shakh," Ganbar advised, casting a nervous glance at his surroundings. "There are many eyes that watch this valley, and many ears that are always listening." The Shakh had already offended the Seneschal once, and Ganbar feared that a second insult would result in the death sentence for all of them.</p><p>"I am not afraid of that pompous upstart," Esarhaddon railed, shaking his fist. "He is only throwing his might around because the King is away at war! The true Lord of Minas Morgul would never stand for such an outrage committed against a merchant in good standing with Mordor!"</p><p>"Shakh, we have all felt this man's power, and I do not think it wise to offend him further." Ganbar's voice was grave. "Only the mercy of the Gods protected us from death back there at the bridge. He even took out his fury upon the two women, causing them to fall victim to the same accursed slumber that came over us."</p><p>"Never before have I felt such terror," Inbir spoke up, his eyes closing as a shudder passed through his lean frame. "We were like those whose wits have been befuddled by the hookah; we stumbled blindly, falling to the ground in a stupor, our dreams filled with despair." He shook his head to clear the terrifying memories from his mind. "All our lives, we have heard stories about the Morgul Vale... that an order of immortal sorcerers dwells in the ancient city, and they weave dreadful enchantments over the valley to confuse and befuddle travelers." Pausing, Inbir continued in a haunted whisper, "Now I know that all the legends are true."</p><p>"There is nothing supernatural about this valley or the men who rule it," Esarhaddon retorted, annoyed that Inbir had descended into entertaining the superstitions of the uneducated. "The foul vapors of the Morgul Vale are infamous for the devastating effects they can have upon the body. These miasmas can befuddle the mind and bring on bouts of delirium, causing victims to experience hallucinations and fainting spells. You should not be so quick to assume that sorcery and magic are at the root of all things which cannot be easily explained upon first glance." Though his words sounded reassuring, the look upon Esarhaddon's face conveyed a stern warning that his views upon the matter were not to be challenged.</p><p>"I suppose you are right, Shakh." Inbir's shoulders slumped as he looked down at the ground. It was easier to agree with what Esarhaddon said than get into an argument about the supernatural, a subject which always seemed to put him in a bad mood. Still, though, Inbir wondered why the Shakh was always so obtuse.</p><p>Mollified, Esarhaddon allowed his tense features to relax. "Well, at least none of us was hurt. All that we have lost is time, but as we all know, that is a very valuable commodity to us. Now before we ever reach the spring where we will camp for the night, we have another two hours' hard ride ahead of us." He shook his head. "While we have waterskins, there will be no relief for the horses. They will suffer greatly for lack of water before we ever reach the refreshing waters.</p><p>After the brief rest, the horsemen resumed their journey through the Morgul Vale. The silvery waters of the Morgulduin were to their left, clouds of mists skimming over the surface. When one of the men would cast an idle glance to the river, sometimes his eyes would catch a glimpse of ghostly figures dancing in the mist. However, upon second glance, the spectres would fade from his vision, and all that was left were the ragged clouds that floated atop the water and an uncomfortable sense of doubt. On either side of the road grew wide swaths of pale white Morgul poppies, their pallid blossoms resembling snowdrifts that had been left behind by an unseasonable storm. Delicate ebony-winged butterflies fluttered from flower to flower, and the peculiar black-and-silver honeybees native to the valley filled the air with an incessant buzzing.</p><p>Not wishing the company of others, Esarhaddon rode far in the lead. He needed time to ponder the strange circumstances of the day, and if possible, make sense of them. He had found that one of the best places to think upon deep matters was on the back of a horse. Patting Ka'adara's lathered neck, he smiled at the radiated warmth against his hand. There was always a chill in the Morgul Vale, no matter how hot the day.<br/>
<br/>
His men had been thoroughly unnerved by the incident at the bridge, and he knew that their superstitious minds would concoct a simplistic explanation for what had occurred. While his men's backward views amused him, he was still sympathetic with their need to believe in something beyond themselves. After all, every one of them was a distant kinsman, and ties of blood ran deep. Not being able to comprehend the meaning of their lives, the men needed to believe in gods who were all knowing and omnipotent. Their simple faith told them that if they placated powerful beings with prayers and offerings, they would be rewarded with the solution to their problems.<br/>
<br/>
"Even a fear of djinns is harmless," he thought benevolently, "as long as it does not addle their brains and turn them into gibbering fanatics." While he was satisfied with the concept of a distant pantheon of gods and goddesses, he kept them at arm's length - a safe distance from his world. His men, though, felt more comfortable with their talismans, charms, amulets, and the powerful mystic letters which were embroidered on their undergarments to ward away evil.<br/>
<br/>
Ever since the slaver's entourage had entered the cleft between the mountains, a somber mood had lain heavily upon them - all save Esarhaddon, who refused to be influenced by such vague unease. His underlings were too simple to understand the concept that natural causes - rather than magic spells - were the real culprits behind the strange happenings in the valley. His men would continue to imagine that dark forces ruled the world, and a curse by a powerful shaman was as good as a death sentence.<br/>
<br/>
Still, a nagging doubt nudged at the back of Esarhaddon's mind when he pondered the bizarre sleep that had fallen upon his party. Strange that neither the Seneschal nor his men had been affected. Perhaps they had become immune to the noxious miasma, or their helms were specially constructed to filter out the vapors, or they had devised some antidote.<br/>
<br/>
Esarhaddon seethed over the outrage that the Seneschal had inflicted upon him. "The pompous dandy takes advantage of his high rank while his master wages war in the North," he silently fumed. "Things will change when his king returns!" Not that this would do the slaver any good, though, for he would be back in Nurn by then. His face darkened with anger, Esarhaddon's thick eyebrows knotted together in a scowl.<br/>
<br/>
Concentrating so intently upon these matters, Esarhaddon had not noticed the deep silence which had settled over the valley. Slowly the realization dawned upon him that the jangling of horses' bits and the clopping of hooves were muffled and indistinct, as though the sound was coming from a great distance. Glancing back over his shoulder, he discovered that he had ridden much further than he had thought. His men appeared as blurry specks upon the western horizon, their shadowy forms wavering and undulating, as though they were riding through the desert on a steaming hot day. Yet there was a chill in the mountain air, and Esarhaddon had the higher ground. Given the situation, visibility should have been excellent.<br/>
<br/>
A jolt of alarm struck him deep in the gut, and he slowed the mare down in the hopes that the others might catch up with him. Yet they did not. No matter how fast their horses trotted, it was as though the road were being stretched out like dough, and the distance between them grew ever longer and longer. Esarhaddon shook his head to clear his vision. "Only an optical illusion, nothing more," he rationalized.<br/>
<br/>
As he rode over a small rise and went down the other side, he was struck by the overwhelming sensation that the mountains were closing in around him. The thick silence grew even more oppressive, as though all sound had been sucked out of the valley by some unseen force. Even Ka'adara seemed affected by the stillness. The mare tossed her head, flicking her ears forward and back, as though she listened for sounds that her master could not hear.<br/>
<br/>
"Steady, my brave Red Fox," Esarhaddon spoke soothingly to her, rubbing his hand along her neck to steady her. Once she had looked back at him questioningly, but when he clicked his tongue and kneed her in the sides, she moved forward hesitantly. An icy breeze began to blow down from the head of the valley, and on its zephyrs Esarhaddon caught a nauseating scent. He recognized the stench as the sickly-sweet scent of decay and putrefaction.<br/>
<br/>
Riding eastward, the slaver found that the smell intensified. Perhaps some large animal had died along the trail, and its carcass had been rolled off the road and into the trees. Perhaps it lay moldering up ahead somewhere, its body bloated and infested with maggots. Maybe it was not an animal after all, but a human or an orc who had perished of some disease, or, more likely, been murdered.<br/>
<br/>
He took a handkerchief out of his sleeve and held it to his nose. If the ghastly smell became any stronger, he was sure he would retch. He kicked Ka'dara into a brisk trot. Certainly this rapid pace would have them quickly away from the loathsome stench. Yet the odor only grew stronger and more oppressive the farther he rode. His head felt light as a surge of dizziness and nausea swept over him. Slowly the realization dawned upon him that the sickeningly sweet smell was not produced by rotting flesh, human or animal, but something twisted and unnatural. A chill snaked down his spine. His senses had been playing tricks on him all along. There had never been a decaying body along the trail. The stench he smelled was from the Morgul flowers! He had traveled through the valley several times in past, but never had they reeked so terribly before! Even stranger still, he did not even see any of the flowers around him!<br/>
<br/>
The road continued to rise steadily before him, but even the increase in elevation did not offer relief to his tortured lungs. Another fit of coughing assailed him, driving him forward with its intensity. Halting his mare, he took a drink from his waterskin and quickly spat the liquid to the side. Even the water was tainted, reeking with the stench of charnel flowers!<br/>
<br/>
"That cannot be possible!" his disbelieving mind shouted. Far more disturbing than the taste of the water, though, was the realization that the terrain all around him now appeared strange and alien. He had been over this road only a few weeks before, and he was certain it was the right road, but he could see no familiar landmarks other than the Morgulduin far below him. His astonished eyes looked around in bewilderment. Could he have fallen asleep for a few moments, taken the wrong fork in the road, and was now heading back towards the city? His breath came in short, rapid gasps, and his vision alternated disconcertingly between blurry and clear. Panicked, he had the urge to whip his mount into a furious gallop and hurtle himself into oblivion.<br/>
<br/>
Like the rising swell of a storm-battered sea, the smell of the flowers was growing stronger, threatening to drown him beneath perfumed waves of frail, languishing petals. His brain, struggling to cling to what he perceived should be reality, tried desperately to rationalize what was happening. How could he still smell the strange charnel flowers? He was far from the meads about the luminous city! But, no - his eyes beheld what his nose had already detected.<br/>
<br/>
Here and there, patches of the pallid flowers flourished along the river, beside argent streams, and on the sides of the rocky hills. There were other flowers, too - blossoming plants, ivies, vines and shrubs, and strange trees whose branches sported leaves when everything else was bare. One scent vied with another for his attention, clamoring like noisy concubines demanding their master's love, until he was assailed by an unruly cacophony of smell. Then, suddenly, the individual fragrances began merging and melding together, creating one vast aroma which took his breath away and threatened to overcome his senses!<br/>
<br/>
Wildly, he looked around. Were the others suffering as he was, suffocating in the fumes of these noxious flowers? But... where were they? He could no longer see them! Three men, two women, and eleven horses had disappeared from his sight! "Impossible!" he told himself, his eyes darting about wildly. "They could not have simply vanished!" Still, the rest of his party was nowhere to be found, and all that met his eyes was the pale line of the Morgul Road stretching back as far as he could see before it disappeared into the western horizon.<br/>
<br/>
As his eyes strained to peer into the distance, it seemed to him that columns of translucent steam danced over the glistening alabaster cobbles, causing the landscape to shimmer and undulate like the ripples in a pond. The air grew even colder, and a damp mist from the river billowed off the waters and drifted in ghost-like tatters about him. A chill crept over his body, the cold penetrating to the marrow of his bones. He was utterly and completely alone,<em> yet it seemed that his every movement was being watched from afar, studied and scrutinized by some mysterious observer whose intent he could not fathom...</em><br/>
<br/>
Esarhaddon turned and shouted as loud as he could into the vast expanse of emptiness. "Ubri! Ganbar! Inbir! Men, where are you?" Not even an echo met his shouts.<br/>
<br/>
"Elfhild, Elffled! Can you hear me?"<br/>
<br/>
There was no answer.<br/>
<br/>
"Is anyone here?!" he screamed until his voice broke in a strangled cry.<br/>
<br/>
"Esarhaddon uHuzziya!"<br/>
<br/>
From somewhere above him, he heard his name being called in a voice thick with a Rhûnian accent. He looked up through the mists that hung damply about him and his mare. Circling about fifty feet above his head was a great featherless bird with leathery wings. Upon the creature's mighty back was a cadaverous shape draped in black, the hooded figure of Death, the embodiment of the waiting tomb. Esarhaddon's blood seemed to freeze in his veins. The mare nickered in terror and rose on her hind legs, her forelegs flailing the air. He felt himself sliding backwards from the saddle, and he grabbed a hank of her mane as his knees gripped her sides for all he was worth. The panicking slaver fought her until all her hooves were squarely underneath her. The mare's eyes rolled white in her head as she trembled. Suddenly, a loud "grack!" from the fell beast sent her rearing again. Even though he thought he had been ready for her that time, the violence of her surge almost unseated him. Poised to flee, the mare's muscles were taut and she trembled and shook as Esarhaddon kept her reined tightly.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you lost?" the rider called as he bent low over the side of the creature and peered down.<br/>
<br/>
"No! No!... Yes... I do not know!" Esarhaddon's voice was so shaky that he could barely croak out a reply.<br/>
<br/>
"Are we not all lost?" The hooded one laughed dryly and then turned both palms skywards in a gesture of puzzlement.<br/>
<br/>
"What do you want from me?" Esarhaddon choked out, his voice sounding strange and unfamiliar to him, as though he had become separated from his own body. "If it is more gold your Master demands--"<br/>
<br/>
He was cut off by a loud snort. "Gold? You fool!" the rider howled out each word. "My Master can create gold by snapping His fingers!"<br/>
<br/>
Esarhaddon took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. "Then what do you want?"<br/>
<br/>
As the beast traveled in slow, lazy circles above Esarhaddon, the rider leaned his chin onto his fist, pondering the question. "I want you," came the flat, emotionless reply as the winged beast dropped lower.<br/>
<br/>
"Me?" Esarhaddon shouted, hardly believing what he had just heard. Drawing his scimitar from its jewel-encrusted sheath, he made a quick mental inventory of the other weapons he had hidden on his body. "If it is me you want, you will have to pay dearly!" Ka'adara caught her master's tension and pranced sideways under him, keeping a suspicious eye upon the beast and its rider.<br/>
<br/>
"You put too high a value upon yourself," the wraith chuckled dryly. "You should be honored that you were even considered."<br/>
<br/>
"Honored?" he spat out. "If you want to fight, come down off that monstrosity that you ride and fight me face to face!" Even though Esarhaddon knew he could not stand a chance against this fiend and his bizarre mount, anger had made him bold and reckless.<br/>
<br/>
"Who ever said I wanted to fight?" the rider called down congenially. He adjusted his position so that he sat sideways upon his mount, his feet dangling over the creature's side. "Nay, I have something else in mind for you. Here is my proposal. No one ever knows the hour when he might be called to meet Mandos. In case my time is coming, I wanted company to journey with me. You seemed as good as any to make the trip, since no one else was around." He considered for a while. "Would you like some wine?"<br/>
<br/>
"I think not, my friend," Esarhaddon told the phantom. "Now either come down and draw your sword, or be quiet and go on your way!" He clenched the sword hilt in his hand. "Why would it have to be my destiny that today of all days I would happen to meet a mad djinn, fallen from grace, who means to have my life?" he thought wildly.<br/>
<br/>
"Do not treat my offer lightly." The rider sounded hurt. "You have to make the trip sometime. Why not make it with me? I have plenty of wine, and I am the best of company. By the way, do you prefer a vintage of Dorwinion or Nurn? The choice is very important, you know."<br/>
<br/>
"I do not have time for this!" Esarhaddon spat out. "I have more important things to do than engage in ridiculous discussions of the hereafter with an insolent djinn!"<br/>
<br/>
"A djinn?" The rider cocked his head to the side. "Ah, yes!" he exclaimed eagerly. "That quaint term from the South... I like it... though some would argue that the name was applied inaccurately. But perhaps djinns share something in common with us. Many of them are cursed, too!" He chuckled, a rumbling sound which began deep in his throat and rose in pitch and volume until it became a bizarre, shrieking cackle which seemed to reverberate from one side of the valley to the other.<br/>
<br/>
"Whatever you are, I do not give a damn, and I am not staying around to find out!" Esarhaddon's voice trembled with both fear and fury, and he dug his heels into his mare's sides and lashed her across the neck with his crop. Given her head, the mare gathered her strong muscles under her, bursting forward in a long leap and then into a gallop.<br/>
<br/>
"Wait! Come back!" the wraith shrieked from overhead. "We still have not decided upon the wine!"</p>
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